


Your Signal in the Distance

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Empath, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a psychometric is more than just being a part of the Empaths. Jensen’s specialty is reliving the deaths of murder victims, which does him no favors except in his job as a Special Investigator with the Homicide Division. That’s why Jensen doesn’t do relationships of any kind. Doesn’t even try, just shuts himself off from natural emotions. He experiences enough of them at his crime scenes.</p><p>Hooking up with a stranger in a club helps to relieve the tension he carries from one murder to the next, but it complicates everything when the one-night stand, Jared, is tied to his next case. Being forced to deal with Jared cracks the facade of the well-built defenses Jensen has created to protect him from the side effects of his abilities. The way Jared slips inside overwhelms Jensen in ways he’d hadn’t known were possible, so his only option is to push Jared as far away as possible. That is, until Jensen begins to really feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> To [Neros Violin](http://neros-violin.livejournal.com/) for running through it and pointing out all the uneven/troublesome parts! Your continued support is appreciated. To [Cleflink](http://cleflink.livejournal.com) for helping throughout with empath vs. telepath conversations, for a final and thorough beta, and for nitpitcking this story with me down to the very last days. ♥ to you both. Love, as always to [Wendy](http://wendy.livejournal.com) and [thehighwaywoman](http://highwaywoman.livejournal.com) for running the fabulous [SPN_J2_BigBang](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com)!
> 
>  **To my artist** , [cassiopeia7](http://cassiopeaia7.livejournal.com), who was fabulous enough to choose me and I feel eternally lucky for it. Not only is the art incredible and a-plenty, but her interest in this story and her dedication to SO MANY BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF ART is both something I’ve never experienced before and something I doubt I’ll know again. You are an incredibly talented, lovely, hilarious person, and I am so glad we were paired up together for art and fic. Better yet, I’m beyond thrilled that we got to know one another over this time. It’s been a fabulous collaboration, and I would be happy to work with you again any time, any place, on any thing <33333333333

Jensen’s head aches.

Long ago, he thought he’d get used to the throb in his temples and the tension in his neck that keeps him awake at night. But it’s too common an occurrence now to treat with pills. The over-the-counter stuff only lasted him so long until he turned to prescriptions—some his, some not. The meds can’t keep up with the steady pound in his system.

He needs to escape. He needs a place where people are loud and distracting and _happy_ , feeling good. A place where there is no drama, where his brain can half-function and he can let alcohol ease his bones. He tells himself that’s why he’s entering the unmarked door to the underbelly of a three-flat with a free health clinic on the street level.

 _Baron’s_ is a club he heard about on a case four years ago. He doesn’t come here often, but it’s the only place he can hide, slipping into the mass of tangled male bodies thriving to a heavy bass beat with drinks flowing and minds shut off to the daily grind. 

It’s bliss for Jensen to blend right in with his fitted sweater and jeans. He’s a patron like anyone else in this bar, and he quickly fills his hand with a cold glass of liquor that soothes his mind as he drinks quickly.

After a few glasses, he finds himself a jewel at the end of the bar—Mr. Tall and Handsome wastes little time with eye contact before he sends a drink down to Jensen. When Jensen nods with dark eyes, the guy heads right over.

There’s little preamble; they both know what this place is for.

“I’m Jared.”

“John,” Jensen easily lies.

With a smile, the guy nods towards the dance floor. “You wanna?”

“No,” he replies firmly.

“Then, you …” He swallows and his throat works temptingly, obvious in the dip of v-neck.

Jensen senses Jared’s pulse deep in his bones, hunger replacing a simple craving. It’s instantaneous to acknowledge and even quicker to dismiss by looking away. He downs the rest of his drink, puts the empty on the bar, and lifts his head confidently. “Yes.”

Twenty minutes later, Jensen is showing Jared into his living room, but they don’t stay there long. Better intentions await them in the bedroom, and once inside, Jensen tears his shirt off and smiles on the inside when Jared does, too.

Jared is ripped from head to toe, which is also how he undresses. Clothes pool at Jared’s feet when he’s left in only his boxers. He moves closer then Jensen stops him.

“Got protection?” Jensen asks, without care for grace.

“Yeah.”

“Top?”

Jared’s mouth tips at the corners while his eyes shine in the moonlight coming in through the windows. He suddenly looks young, playful. Then with a dark look, it’s obvious Jared is old enough to know. “Definitely.”

“Good.”

Quick and rough, Jensen is bent forward with his hands on the mattress, knees pressing uncomfortably against the edge as Jared pushes a lube-slick finger all the way in. Jensen grunts at the thickness of the finger and how Jared pulls it out and forces it back in. It hurts, surely, to go this quickly. And yet, it’s exactly what Jensen needs right now.

He yearns for the power Jared can give, especially when Jared wraps his other arm around Jensen’s chest to pull him back to stand. Jared twists his hand and finger, catching a better angle and showing the control he has over Jensen right now. Jensen reaches back for Jared’s leg and up for his arm, squeezing around the muscles playing beneath the taut, warm skin. He shuts his eyes and breathes through his nose, and imagines those muscles bulging when they really get to work.

This is the only time Jensen ever lets his walls drop, allows others to take, quietly begs for them to. And he does beg as he pushes back on Jared’s hand, mumbling, “Gimme another, right now.”

“Yeah, of course, baby,” Jared murmurs against his ear. He slides a second finger in and runs his free hand over Jensen’s chest, his ribs, the flatness of his stomach, and all the way back up again. “You like it fast, too? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Jensen orders.

Jared brings his fingers out and teases along Jensen’s hole. “What if I'd said I wasn’t a top?”

“I would’ve found other ways to put you to use.”

“Fuck, yeah, and I would let you,” he says just before biting along Jensen’s neck and sliding his fingers back inside.

With a hiss, Jensen forces Jared’s head away. “No marks. Nothing visible.”

“Okay, sorry.” He licks up Jensen’s neck to soothe the pricks of pain and breathes heavily in Jensen’s ear as he kisses along the shell of it. “You got someone you’re hiding from?”

Jensen bristles and grunts, trying to focus more on Jared’s fingers than this conversation. “No.”

“Maybe another guy?”

“ _No_.”

Jared smirks against Jensen’s throat and sounds amused when he asks, “A wife?”

“My job,” Jensen admits.

“What do you do?”

“None of your business.”

With a low laugh, Jared bites at Jensen’s earlobe without harm. “Touchy, are we?”

Jensen ruts back on the fingers, forcing them deeper, spreading his hole at the base of Jared’s hand. “Are we gonna talk all night or fuck?”

“We could do both,” Jared offers as he presses the tip of a third finger against Jensen’s rim.

He wants to moan, but he’s not up for granting Jared that satisfaction. He just wants to get fucked, hard and fast and out of his mind. “I’m not interested.”

“Then what are you interested in? Another finger? A fourth? My whole hand?”

Jensen’s eyes fly open and he stares out the window, eyes burning with the light of the moon. It’s tempting, such a fantastically painful idea that Jensen would love to experience. To be forced open and teeter on the razor-thin line of gut-spinning pain and euphoria. He breathes heavily with the image, doubled over with Jared’s heated words and thoughts, and says, “Maybe another time.”

“Maybe,” Jared says, pressing a smiling kiss to Jared’s throat.

“Just fuck me now,” Jensen pants, shouldering Jared away. He only minimally hates the absence of Jared’s fingers and Jared’s hot skin against his back.

Jared runs his hand up Jensen’s spine, forcing Jensen to lean on the bed again, and rubs the head of his slick dick at Jensen’s hole before pushing in. Jensen arches his up and Jared groans as he slides further in. “Goddamn, you feel good.”

“Fuck, you’re huge,” Jensen moans, yet smiles because the pressure is hard enough to make his brain spin. Nerves flare up all over his body when Jared pulls back and presses right back in. “So fucking huge.”

“You like my big cock, huh?” Jared taunts and keeps going, spreading Jensen wider and setting an even rhythm.

Jensen closes his eyes, braces his hands and feet, and rocks back to each one of Jared’s thrusts as best he can. Jared is moving quickly and hard, and it’s just what Jensen wants; it’s what he needs to break the tension that keeps his spine too tight in the daylight. When Jared grabs hold of Jensen’s hips to tug them tight on each stroke, Jensen mumbles a litany of vulgarities and pleas for Jared to go even faster, even rougher, to never stop.

Jared responds, fucking with quick, steady strides, and releases his own string of fucks and yeahs and _oh yeaaaah_ when Jensen starts to stroke his own dick and squeezes around Jared’s as his orgasm builds. 

The bad angle on one hand forces Jensen fully down to the bed with Jared following. He covers Jensen entirely and rises up on his hands to fuck even deeper from this position. Jensen’s dick rubs painfully against the sheets as Jared’s thrusts push him further up the bed when Jensen has nothing to brace himself on.

He gets his knees beneath him and crawls forward, and Jared again comes right with him, draped over Jensen’s back as he continues to fuck fast and dirty. Jensen wraps his hand around his dick again and fists just as quick and rough as Jared is moving. His breaths comes out short and he can’t get enough air back in to speak, so he bites into his lower lip when Jared covers Jensen’s hand and together they strip him hastily until Jensen releases a broken whine and shoots over their hands and across the sheets below.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s good,” Jared mumbles as he keeps thrusting. “You want me to pull out, come all over your ass? Paint you up real pretty?”

Jensen’s still consumed by the pressure of his pounding heart and skin that’s flaring with hot and cold as he comes down from his orgasm. “Just don’t get it on the bed,” he says, even if he doesn’t care at this point. His defenses are rising again and he just wants this done with now. Wants Jared to be gone in a matter of minutes so he can collapse to bed alone and get on with his life. Just like he always does with these one-night stands that fuck him over in completely beneficial ways.

Jared moans and rolls his hips in a long, fluid motion, buries himself deep, and shudders through a few more strokes in and out. Soon after, Jensen grimaces about the mess of this bed and his body, yet he’s feeling great relief within for being used in this way.

Collapsing, Jared oomphs and blankets Jensen entirely. It’s a pleasure as Jensen can feel the hardness of Jared’s body, that hot, sweaty skin touching everywhere. Jared's pleased exhaustion takes over Jensen’s mind and when Jensen closes his eyes, he's dizzy with euphoria all over again. 

Jared shifts to lean forward, dick pushing even further in the mess of Jensen’s ass and firing off a few more nerve endings. He noses along Jensen’s jawline and runs his fingers over Jensen’s head. When his mouth gets a little too close to Jensen’s, Jensen slinks back and pushes Jared off.

“I gotta clean up,” Jensen says firmly, with no room to discuss it. He gets off the bed, cleans up in the bathroom, and tugs on a pair of boxers and a tee at the top of the laundry basket.

Back in the bedroom, Jared is stretched out on the bed. His position shows off the sharp lines of his hipbones, the cut of his chest, and the bulk of his arms. “So, that was pretty damn good,” he says with a sleepy, satisfied smile.

Jensen flicks an eyebrow and gathers up Jared’s clothes to place them on the bed. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Jared is still smiling as he rubs over his chest. “Need a wake-up call?”

“No.”

It’s silent in the bedroom, a familiar tension that Jensen has experienced far too often in the aftermath of a good time.

They stare at one another and Jensen can read the moment Jared realizes that Jensen isn’t going to budge. It hits Jensen in the gut, but this is all it was—relief from a life full of pain and anger that is only lessened on occasion.

Jared tsks and swings around to sit at the edge of the bed. “That’s a shame.”

Jensen remains quiet and continues to watch Jared get dressed and rise to his full height, looking like a giant in Jensen’s modest bedroom.

“Maybe we can exchange numbers and—”

“Don’t,” Jensen says firmly.

“Don’t what? Act like I’d like to do that again?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what this was.”

“A really good time?” Jared asks with a bit of heat.

Jensen steels himself to not react. “I have an early morning.”

“Noted,” Jared replies tersely. “Maybe I’ll catch you at _Baron’s_ again.” When Jensen doesn’t reply, Jared rolls his eyes. “Or maybe not.”

He doesn’t bother to see Jared out, only stands in the middle of his bedroom to wait for his front door to close. That’s when he strips the bed of the linens, balls them up, and dumps them in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. He peeks out the front room windows to see Jared’s car pulling away then locks the door and falls asleep on a bare mattress. It still smells of sex and sweat in the room, but his muscles are loose and used, so he quickly finds sleep.

He wasn’t lying when he told Jared he had an early morning. His job exists without set hours and he’s used to being woken up at dawn to details of where he’s needed. That’s what happens two days later, when he’s sent across town to an up-scale apartment complex with a dozen buildings spaced around a creek with a running path, both of which lead into a nearby forest preserve.

Jensen heads to a first-floor apartment with all of its lights on. Neighbors in all sorts of pajamas and robes are milling on the lawn with fear and shock in their eyes while uniformed police keep them a distance away. He can still see how they eye him oddly when he marches up the walkway and enters the building without anyone stopping him. It’s unnerving with all their eyes on him. Sometimes with the right connection, he responds to these kinds of extreme emotions. Over time, he’s learned well how to segment that part of his mind for daily survival.

The night with Jared had gone a long way to relieve the pressure building in his muscles, but he can feel them going rigid again with anticipation of what this day will bring. He’s not looking forward to what awaits him inside, given the strips of yellow tape blocking the entrance to the apartment, and the way his partner moves on ahead of him.

Agony immediately overcomes him and he has to stop at the apartment’s entry to get his wits about him and steady his mind.

“Hey, it’s our Boy Wonder,” a uniform calls to Jensen from inside the apartment. “Gonna save the day?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and takes another moment to prepare.

Life as a psychometric ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. The title, for one, Jensen has never become accustomed to. _Cognitive_ , he always downplays to anyone who says the name. Reading overly traumatic emotions isn’t fun to discuss in social circles; nothing about it is _fun_. Sure, there are the visions—scenes, really—that help Jensen do his job. Seeing people’s deaths post-mortem is an advantage for a homicide investigator, but it’s not like Jensen suddenly has a full hand of cards for suspects that proclaim in big, bold, black letters _Do not pass Go! Go directly to jail!_

The ironic fact is that this gift is a death sentence. It’s killing Jensen on the inside; his strength is waning, making it more difficult to rebuild his defenses after every encounter. He has no real escape when he’s facing corpses on a regular basis and under the stress of constant restoration.

So he stoops below the crime scene tape with a deep breath and keeps his eyes open to the area. Crime scene techs are checking out the living room; the door and its lock are already dusted in grey powder, and dishes and silverware in the kitchen are bagged for evidence.

“In the bedroom,” another uniformed officer instructs, pointing down the thin hallway that leads to a few more doors.

In the bathroom, a tech is taking pictures of the sink and objects on the counter, a closet door is ajar, and further down is the bedroom where a handful of techs are talking with a suit. There’s a woman on the bed. Maybe late twenties. Half under the covers and slumped forward with her eyes wide open like she’s waiting for someone, for Jensen, to help.

The blood in the sheets beneath her say it’s too late. Jensen looks away before his brain flies off without his control, and he takes in the room to discover that nothing else seems out of place. No struggle, no phone to call for help. Every item is in a place this woman had assigned it a long while ago.

“Ackles,” Detective Worthy says, breaking his conversation to greet Jensen and shake hands.

Jensen nods in salutation. “What’ve we got?”

Worthy reads off his notepad, words coming even and professional. “Ellen Jane Thompson. Twenty-six, single, lives alone, was no-call no-show yesterday at work. She’s got a perfect track record and her boss was spooked. He called her emergency contact—a sister—who couldn’t reach her. She came by, still no answer, so she called the building’s management.”

“She didn’t call you guys?”

“She did. Yesterday.” Worthy shakes his head, a cross between guilty and pissed off. “Missing persons told them to wait forty-eight hours, being an adult and all.” He looks at the victim and sighs. “Maybe we could’ve saved her if they got word earlier.”

Jensen looks at her, can’t stay away from the glassy, dull eyes. His mind immediately fogs over with images of her gasping for her last breaths. They’re choppy and barely formed, but it’s enough for a quick answer. “Nothing could’ve.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hope.”

“Sometimes it does,” Jensen admits quietly, feeling the edges of his vision softening to make way for the truth of what happened to Ellen Thompson. Before the visions get too deep, Jensen closes his eyes and turns away from her. He’s not ready to know just yet. “So what’s the story in here?”

Worthy shrugs as he turns one way then the other. “Nothing. Front door was locked, windows are clean, nothing is disrupted. No proof of anything happening.”

“Besides the body,” Misha says, entering the room and stepping up next to Jensen, who nods at his partner. “Or the blood.”

Jensen gives Misha a dirty look, and with one of Misha’s hands on his shoulder, Jensen feels a bit of the tension edge away. It’s Misha’s own gift—to experience other’s emotions and will his own onto them. It’s helpful, certainly, but Jensen hates that Misha uses it on him so often. Jensen shrugs away, grumbling, “Not now.”

Misha waves him off, seeming annoyed yet patient in that seamless way only he can be. “Uniforms found a police card in her wallet.”

“For what?” Jensen asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s not in the system.”

“Get ‘em down here,” Worthy commands.

“Already on his way.”

“Anything else in her wallet?” Jensen asks.

“Just the regular,” Misha snorts. “License, credit cards, a few bucks.”

“You find her phone?” 

“Not there.”

“Techs haven’t found it yet,” Worthy says. “You think our guy took it with him?”

Jensen shrugs and waves at the bed. “Seems weird it’s not in here.”

“She could keep it somewhere else,” Misha offers.

“The charger’s on the ground over here by the nightstand,” Jensen points out.

Worthy and Misha move closer, leaning down to see the very end of the cord in the space between the stand and the bed.

“You do your magic yet?” Misha asks Jensen.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No, not yet. Just getting a feel for the room.”

Misha pats his back with a quick swipe over one shoulder to relieve a few nerves, then Worthy moves to the other side of the room to talk with the techs still at work.

Jensen settles his stance, shoulders widening and hands hanging loose at his side. He looks at Ellen Thompson’s eyes, feels himself slip into her and, slowly, his vision fades away so that the room is dim around him and all noise fuzzes out. Now his sight is from the victim’s position in bed and he hears her steady breathing in his own ears, feels the warmth of the covers over her shoulders. A stream of conversation in the back of his mind and lights flickering around him begin to lull him to sleep.

There’s a tiny creak of the floor then the blankets are dragged down to waist, arm chilled with fresh air. Fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, warm on bare skin as they travel the length of his arm and back up. A palm curls around his shoulder and forward, just gracing his collarbone before sliding lower, more seductively, and presses against his chest, which goes tight with the unwanted touch. The hand cups and kneads as a cool metal tip traces his shoulder blade, back and forth as heavy breathing becomes prominent in the room.

Jensen can feel his muscles tense, knees shifting as the heavy comfort of sleep is tugged away the longer the metal drags over his back. A short hush followed by a soft groan as the hand on his chest becomes more insistent, along with the point in his shoulder. A tiny trigger of pain and he realizes it’s a knife. Alarm fully breaks him from sleep and makes him want to fight, but the hand on his chest presses up to grip his neck. Latex pinches his throat when the grip becomes tighter. Another rough breath then the man behind him whispers, _It’s okay, sugar._

Jensen can feel the instant she fought, noises buzzing in his ears as her actions take precedence over anything else in the room when she tries to get out of his reach. The fist around her throat is too tight and she fights to move away. The man shoves his knee against her thigh to keep her in place, but she’s shifting so much that he slips the knife an inch into her lower back.

_Stop fighting it. We’re gonna be beautiful._

Struggling against his strong leg on hers, she slides herself further back on the blade and cries out. He covers her mouth with his hand, pressing hard enough to hurt her upper jaw where his thumb and fingers squeeze. The man grunts angrily, fiercely, and lets out another louder growl before shoving the knife in to the hilt and tugs up, slicing her back open.

Jensen gasps when pain blooms across his back, sharp fire lighting up his spine, then he feels boneless, paralyzed by the injury, face frozen in fear.

Fingers comb hair away from her face as she’s hushed to eternal sleep. Just moments before she drops off, there’s the soft murmur of _Good job, sugar._

A heavy hand lands on Jensen’s shoulder and he blinks. The room flashes back to life, daylight, a crime scene, his partner’s touch easing him out of the images.

Jensen steadies his breathing as he stares at the ceiling for a blank canvas to clear his mind. He tries closing his eyes, but all he sees is her dead stare and he needs to summarize the important details first. Across the room, he finds Worthy watching him, waiting and anxious for an answer.

He swallows and smacks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He’s thirsty, drained, and in need of fresh air. But first, he can’t lose that vision. “I’m alright,” he mumbles to Misha, moving away from his partner’s hand. To Worthy, he says, “She was assaulted first, while she was sleeping. I don’t think he meant to kill her, not initially. But she moved back onto the knife and was fighting too much.”

“Did she see him?”

Jensen shakes his head and motions at the body. “No, she was facing this way the whole time.”

Worthy glances at the techs behind him. “Did anyone disrupt the scene?”

They shake their heads and Jensen knows the detective is wondering about the covers still over half her body, clothes well in place. “He grabbed her breast. It was very sexual, first caresses until he was grabbing her. And he called her—”

Just then, a recording plays in the hall, an older voice talking. _Hey Ellie. It’s Dad. Just checking in on you, sugar._

Jensen goes to the doorway to hear better, tipping his head down to focus on the words. The voice sounds worried.

_We haven’t heard from you for a few days and I wanted to make sure everything was okay at the apartment after last week. Mom and I are thinking of you. We love you. Call us._

Jensen faces the room again and sighs. “He called her sugar.”

“On the recording, yeah,” Worthy says oddly.

“No, the murderer. He called her sugar a few times.”

Misha looks at Jensen with wide eyes then controls his face with a nod. “We oughta talk to the father.”  
Jensen shakes his head, hating the suspicion that it could be a relative. It’s a blessing when the voicemails continue on with less personal messages like cold-call centers and a friend who doesn’t seem to know that there’s anything amiss, just checking in after a long time without talking.

“Hey, Collins!” someone shouts from the front room. “Did you call someone up here?”

Misha leaves the room then motions for Jensen and Worthy, saying it’s the officer from the business card they found in Ellen Thompson’s wallet.

Seconds later, they’re all together in the living room and as Misha introduces the man, Jensen’s breath stops and he’s frozen in place. “Special Victims,” Misha says with a wave, “Jared Padalecki.”

Jensen is staring at his one-night stand from two nights ago, and Jared is shocked in return, though he shakes it off more effectively than Jensen can. After a long moment, Jared glances around them all and only aims short, strange looks in Jensen’s direction. Worthy moves around them to shake hands and asks Jared how his card ended up with their victim.

To his credit, Jared has basically recovered and is amicable in his explanation. “We had a report of a peeping tom in the area. A woman a few doors down saw a man by a tree outside her window last week. She thinks he was …” Jared uncomfortably snorts. “Enjoying himself.”

“And they called you?” Worthy asks.

“Patrol came out and made a few inquiries. When a few others reported the same, they called us in to investigate.”

“On a chronic masturbator?” Misha chuckles. “Next thing we know, you’ll be showing up at my house.”

“Christ, Misha,” Jensen grumbles. After a sigh, he faces Worthy, refusing to acknowledge Jared. “I guess that rules out the father.”

“Unless the father is our peeping tom,” the detective offers.

Jensen is outraged at that image. “At his daughter’s building? Are you serious?”

“We’d like to see your files,” Misha calmly tells Jared, likely trying to diffuse Jensen’s anger.

Only, Jared is now closely watching Jensen and it seems Misha reads the discomfort. To alleviate what he must mistake as tension between unknown parties, he pats Jensen’s shoulder. “Sorry, where are my manners? This is my partner, Special Investigator Jensen Ackles.”

The corner of Jared’s mouth quirks and he puts his hand out. “Right, _Jensen_ , nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” Jensen mutters without taking the offered handshake. He has no interest in extending their knowledge of one another any further than need be. “If you could get us your files ASAP, that’d be good.” To Misha, he says, “I’ll be back in the room. Get me before you leave.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just walks straight to the bedroom to take in the entire scene and try his damnedest to find something that can help them before they talk to Ellen Thompson’s family. Once he procures a pair of gloves from the techs still in the room, he inspects the cell phone charging cord. It has remained firmly plugged into the wall, yet the lamp on the nightstand isn’t. The plug has been cleanly pulled out, no bending as if something bumped or yanked it. He checks the stand on the other side of the bed and the second lamp is also unplugged.

Jensen looks up to the overhead light and realizes the room has been bright enough with the curtains drawn open and daylight coming through the windows that no one turned on the lights. He walks to the doorway and flicks the light switch. He’s not sure if he’s surprised when nothing happens.

He pulls the chair away from her vanity, stands on it, and finds all four light bulbs are just loose enough that they won’t turn on. Light beams in his eyes when he twists one back into place and he stumbles off the chair and to the ground, blinking away the white blotches in his vision.

When he hears footsteps approach him, he says over his shoulder, “The murderer was here before her. All the lights are disabled.”

“That’s amazing.”

Jensen whips around and rolls his eyes at Jared. “What?” he asks tiredly.

Jared nods, looking impressed. “No one would’ve noticed until night time that they’re out. And that’s only if you’re still here after dusk.”

“This is a crime scene,” Jensen says firmly, trying to push for Jared to leave.

Jared pulls his jacket back to show off the badge on his belt. “Good thing I’m a cop then.”

Jensen steps away from Jared to take in the bed, wondering if Ellen Thompson’s cell phone had somehow ended up between the covers. “Since when?”

“Since 2001. Special Victims since 2008. In case you were wondering.”

He needs to put space between he and Jared, get the man away from him as soon as possible so he can get back to work and not consider that with just one errant look, someone could read something between them. Last thing he needs is his dirty laundry aired in front of coworkers. “Too bad I wasn’t.”

“Wow. And here I thought you being an asshole was just an after-fuck act.”

Jensen glares at Jared. “Do you mind not doing that?”

“Doing what?” Jared asks, face suddenly free of any judgment. He looks calm, almost happy, to smile at Jensen.

“Being here for starters.” He rolls his eyes and lightly pulls at the covers to hunt through the folds.

“Your partner called me here. I could have valuable information.”

Irritation boils low in Jensen’s gut and the longer they go on, the quicker he can feel it thrumming through his veins. “Your files could have valuable information. You are no longer needed.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“Oh, I tried,” Jensen replies dryly. “You obviously haven’t let that point go.”

“I’m not likely to forget it, _John_.”

Jensen purposely turns to Jared so he can roll his eyes. 

Jared steps a little closer and thankfully lowers his voice. “Why hide names when you’re going bare?”

“Because I’m not fond of people knowing who I am or what I do. Not in this day and age.”

“And you’re comfortable with random hook-ups … in this day and age.”

Jensen opens and closes his mouth, knowing the real answer but not wanting to let his one-night stand –one that just can’t seem to leave him be – know that he relishes that kind of dare in the moment, to fully relieve himself of any expectations or understandings.

Jared tsks, but somehow doesn’t seem demeaning. “You should be more careful.”

“I had a feeling you were fine,” Jensen admits. And he did; that feeling was far deeper than he’s willing to admit at this point, but he remembers it all the same.

“I get that.” Jared shrugs easily, as if he’s letting it go with one brush of his shoulder. “Just, would be a shame if you don’t watch out for yourself.”

“Thanks. I guess,” Jensen adds, wondering why he’s bothering to say it.

“What’re you looking for?” Jared asks, now right beside him.

With huff, Jensen steps a few feet away from Jared and keeps searching. A TV remote is there, and he puts it on the nightstand before continuing his hunt. “Her cell phone.”

“What if he took it?”

“It’s possible. I’m just checking all the options.” He curses himself for bothering to answer and stops with the blankets to look at Jared. “Why are you still here?”

Jared shrugs. All carefree and stupidly still standing too close even if it’s a few feet away. “Cause I’m the best connection to the neighbors that you have right now.”

Jensen sighs and tips his head back and glares at the ceiling to avoid ripping into Jared. Smacking his lips together, he grounds himself from having an outburst that anyone in the apartment could hear. He does not need Jared here, standing so close, looking too good in his button-up, tie, and dress slacks, all professional and capable. Jensen can do his job without someone helping him, especially someone he ushered out of his bedroom two nights ago.

“You are not a connection to anything and you never will be,” Jensen insists. “I have been doing my job longer than you’ve had hair on your chest, so just let me do my job.”

“So you do remember,” Jared murmurs with a small smile. “My chest.”

“You are wildly inappropriate and I would be happy to get you suspended for tainting a murder scene.”

Jared sighs and glances around. “Look, I’m just saying. I could be of good help here. It’s not like I don’t know the ropes or have my own people to get something out of. I’ve been around this building already and have some solid info on the neighbors.”

“Great, leave your _solid info_ with my partner.” Jared snorts, and Jensen sighs and shakes his head, angry at Jared for still standing here and himself for still talking to him. “What do you want?”

“To help you find a murderer.”

“You have high aspirations,” Jensen says plainly. “But, I don’t think so.”

Jared watches Jensen for a few moments, making Jensen hate the soft turn of Jared’s lips or the vibrancy in his eyes as they continue to stare. “And that’s it?”

Jensen stands firm. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Before Jared can reply, Jensen leaves the bedroom to find Misha so they can get moving on the investigation. “We should talk to the family,” he tells his partner.

“Don’t you wanna start with the neighbors?” Jared asks.

Jensen decides to not concede to Jared; it would’ve been a good idea to follow ten minutes ago. “You ready?”

“Whoa,” Misha says slowly, assessing them then waving towards each. “There is _a lot_ of shit flaring up here. You okay there, kid?”

When Misha puts his hand on Jared’s arm, Jared flinches and looks pissed. “I’m not a kid.”

“Holy sexual tension.”

“It’s not—” Jensen complains, only to be cut off by Jared.

“How would you even …”

Jensen coughs, uncomfortable to explain because it would only confirm Misha’s summation. “Misha is a Telempath.”

“Oh, right,” Jared says with wonder. “Special Investigations Unit. So what’s that make you?”

Jensen feels awkward with Jared considering him so closely, which is ass backwards given how much he loved the way those hazel eyes combed over him in _Baron’s_. “Not your concern. Misha, you ready?”

Misha studies them both and, thankfully, goes with Jensen. “Yeah, sure.” With a handshake for Jared, he thanks him for coming down. “We’ll be in touch for your files.”

“Going,” Jensen announces and leaves the apartment.

Once they’re in the car, Misha revving the engine to life, Jensen pulls his phone out to type in a few notes from the crime scene.

“Did they have a time of death?”

“Between seven and eleven p.m.,” Misha replies, staring out the windshield.

“Gotta be closer to eleven. She was already asleep and it was pitch black in the room. Though the lights were out. Unplugged and the overhead bulbs were loose. She might’ve gone to bed before it was dark enough to use them.”

“Maybe she tried them and just let it go?”

“Would you?”

“Probably. But I’m an easier spirit than most.” 

“You _are_ easy.”

After a moment, Misha asks, “Are we really avoiding the Special Victims elephant in the room?”

Jensen keeps typing on his phone, doesn’t bother looking up when he replies, “Yes.”

“At least tell me if it was just awkward flirting gone wrong?” When Jensen remains focused on his notes, Misha goes on. “Some heavy petting? Light petting? Did you turn him down?”

He finally looks at his partner, face flat, bordering on anger. “No, no, and no.”

“Did he turn _you_ down?” Now Jensen glares at him and Misha’s eyes widen. “Oh, so you actually got a good turn on the Merry Go Round?”

“We’re not talking about him anymore. Or to him, for that matter.”

“He might have leads on the chronic masturbator.”

Jensen sighs. “His files, not him.”

“Jensen, come on,” Misha says seriously, reaching for Jensen’s arm.

He moves as far against the door as possible. “Don’t even, not now."

Shaking his head, Misha sits forward and pulls the car onto the road. “Think about how comfortable your life would be if you let me touch you.”

Jensen starts to smile as he watches his partner’s profile. Misha remains stoic, either a great actor or completely oblivious. “You should watch what comes out of your mouth.”

“And you should watch what goes into yours.”

“Trust me, I will from now on.”

After four years partnered together, Jensen has learned to read Misha’s forehead creases and brow lines. He figures it’s only fair given how quickly Misha can get a handle on Jensen’s constantly fluctuating—and high-anxiety—emotions.

So, it’s quite troubling that as soon as Misha shakes hands with Robert Thompson, their victim’s brother, Misha looks disturbed and flashes Jensen a dark look.

“Special Investigators?” Robert says with interest once they’ve exchanged names. “So what do you do?”

“We investigate,” Jensen replies. He almost smiles when Robert prickles at the flat response.

“I’ve just never met one of you before.”

Jensen glances at Misha, neither of them appreciating the statement, no matter how innocent it seems to be. “First time for anything, I guess.”

“You probably know more than you like to think you do,” Misha adds. His easy smile softens the real meaning behind his comment, but the conversation feels tense all the same.

“Why don’t we all move into the living room?” Jake, the father, suggests as he leads Jensen and Misha out of the foyer.

The home is well decorated with space to move through the open floor plan of the living and dining rooms. It’s sickeningly bright with cream walls, light upholstery, and windows that nearly stretch to the ceiling to carry the daylight in—especially compared to the darkness Jensen instantly senses within this family.

Maggie Thompson, a petite brunette who is polished from her bob haircut down to her shiny flats, joins them with a tray of coffees, creamer pot, and bowl of sugar. It’s obvious this mother takes great pride in her appearance as well as the home; when she sits in a side chair, she straightens the arm cover and picks a piece of flint off that she holds for the duration of their talk so as to not drop it on the floor.

Jensen builds up his defenses to filter out some of the darker worry swirling within the room and seeping into his mind. After a long breath, and once he discerns a wall clicking into place, he takes the lead to allow Misha full range of his capabilities—watching, assessing, _feeling_ every response to any word spoken aloud. 

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jensen says carefully. “And I know it’s never good timing to discuss, but do you know if Ellen was having any problems with anyone?”

The family shares a look and the son appears ready to complain about whomever it is they’re all discussing with their eyes.

“We can’t help unless you tell us,” Jensen prods.

“There was this guy,” Maggie says, fingers twisting together in her lap as she frowns.

“Her shitbag ex-boyfriend,” Robert spits out.

“No, Robbie, not—”

“Yeah, Scott Brennan,” he insists, growing angry the longer he talks. “He used to hit her, kept her practically on lockdown in their apartment. No one wanted to do anything about it. Neither of you would let me break his neck. And look what happened.”

Jensen shifts on the couch and catches Misha’s gaze for a brief moment, as Robert’s fury multiplies in the large living room. “If we can just take a step back?”

“He busted up her face, but she wouldn’t go to the hospital. Finally saw a doctor when her jaw kept hurting, and still, no one did anything.”

Misha stretches his hand out from his knee and Jensen wonders if his partner waited a little too long to act. The room already feels icy with anger and Jensen has to look anywhere but at the family seated around him. Their grief is echoing off the walls and Jensen knows that just one second of a shared look could throw him into a tailspin of see-sawing emotions.

The parents are now arguing with the son, insisting that they did all they could, that they can protect adult children for only so long. Jensen feels a chill run up his arm and he flinches when it slinks up his neck.

“Mish,” he prods, just so his partner will do _something_ for the sake of all in this room.

Finally, Misha leans forward to set his hand on Robert’s knee. With a soft look, he tells the brother, “I understand your anger. It is truly justified. We can all talk levelly about this, right?”

Robert appears dazed as he watches Misha, blinking slowly as his breathing is less obvious with the high rises of his chest. Suddenly, he shoves Misha’s arm away and grunts. “You’re a fucking empath!”

Misha tries to explain himself, stupidly discuss how they’re all part of the Empath race while the parents reprimand their son for his outburst, but no one is listening and it’s already out of the bag. All of it together creates a fiery rage that punches Jensen in his chest. It nearly takes him over when he jumps to his feet with a shout for everyone to stop talking.

“Stop, all of you! No one says a word for thirty seconds!” Following a few harsh sighs, Jensen nods to the hallway. “Misha, in private?”

“Excuse us a moment,” Misha tells the family with their quick exit to the foyer. Once they’re out of earshot, Misha covers his mouth and mumbles, “Jesus H. Christ. This family is about to spontaneously combust.”

“Us, too,” Jensen complains. “Why the hell weren’t you doing anything in there?”

He frowns and leans back against the front door. “I was, but it’s all too much. The brother is like,” and Misha makes a frenzied motion with both hands.

“Understatement of the year there.” Jensen rubs his face then straightens the collars on his shirt and jacket to feel more pulled together, more _in place_. “It can’t be the ex. The things the guy did, what I saw and felt, there’s no way it was that kind of emotion until the very end.”

“That apartment would have been demolished if we were dealing with an angry, abusive ex.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Jensen taps Misha’s arm, remembering their initial entrance to the home. “What’d you read when we first came in here?”

“There are a lot of empist feelings in here.”

“You think?” Jensen asks, rolling his eyes. It’s more than obvious what the son thinks of empaths. Unfortunately, that same anger towards their race keeps Misha from being able to settle the room. “So what now?”

“We visit the boyfriend?”

Jensen gives Misha an ugly look for suggesting it. They’ve already agreed the boyfriend can’t be their guy, but Misha remains stoic and easy going as always.

“Just as a cursory meeting. Tick off all the boxes on the card?”

“Depends on how many boxes we’ve got on this card,” he mumbles, glancing back into the living room where it appears that Robert is still rumbling with anger and the parents are each filled with worry. “If the ex is as bad as they’ve said, it’ll be like World War IV.”

“III was hardly a blip,” Misha says with a sly smile. 

Jensen chooses to keep his comments to himself; reliving WWIII where Kinetics attacked the Empath race, simply because they wielded more physical powers, did no one any favors. It ran Empaths into hiding or guarded protection (like Misha and Jensen) and built a good case for the regular ol’ joes to side eye all Pathigens.

Instead, he breathes deep to relax himself and holds his hand out for the car keys. “You can tell them we’re leaving while I start up the car.”

“Scaredy cat,” Misha murmurs, though he hands over the keys anyway. “Great, leave me with the Cleavers. Just pray I don’t start up another hissy fit.”

“They’re too toxic, try not to touch anyone,” Jensen suggests. He smirks and adds, “Like ever.”

Misha grumbles as he heads back into the living room and Jensen ticks off his own box with a smile.

That afternoon, Jensen steels himself as Misha knocks on the door. Scott Brennan has little to no record—a few parking tickets, expired plates—but nothing to report of any major issue whatsoever. With a nine-to-five job he’s held down for a decade and a clean credit rating, Brennan stands as a fairly perfect citizen.

Once the door slides open and Jensen and Misha wave their badges, they both suck in a breath as wrath brushes over them and the guy cruelly smiles. 

“Empathetics,” he spits out. 

Jensen wants to drag in another deep breath, but he can instantly imagine how the fury would fill his lungs and seize his system. He looks away from the man’s angry, black eyes, and focuses on the bright green grass of the manicured lawn to pull in something more serene.

The door squeaks as it wavers a few inches in each direction and Jensen wonders if this Kinetic’s disgust is going to slam the door in their face. 

“Scott Brennan, I’m assuming?” Misha asks cynically. “I’m Agent Collins, and this is my partner, Agent Ackles. We have a few questions for you regarding Ellen Thompson.”

“That girl is dead to me.”

Jensen looks up at the cold tone of the words. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I spent two years with her before she walked out on me.”

“You mind telling us where you were last night?” Misha asks.

“Last night?” Brennan asks. “I was working late then I went to my girlfriend’s house.”

“Can anyone at work vouch for you?”

“Yeah, my boss was there, too. We had a project to get out.”

“Why aren’t you at work today?” Jensen asks.

“She gave me the day off after too much overtime this week.” Brennan rubs at his neck and Jensen notes red marks on his skin and abrasions across his knuckles. “What’s going on?”

Jensen considers continuing to question him without giving out any of their information, but there’s a small twist of joy at being able to keep the guy off his game of anger and tension. “Ellen Thompson is dead.”

Brennan’s eyes lighten to blue and his face drops. Jensen’s shoulders ease when he feels the Kinetic’s anger dissipate. “Holy shit. Ellie … are you sure? What happened?”

“Yes, we’re sure. Last night in her home.”

Misha pulls out his notepad and begins to scribble in it. “Can your girlfriend vouch for your whereabouts? What’s her name?” 

“Yeah, of course she can. Susette Willis. I was there until this morning.” 

“What happened to your neck?” Jensen cuts in.

Brennan’s eyes begin to darken again, though not as fluidly as before. “We had a little fight.”

Jensen glances Misha and he’s certain his partner is thinking the same thing. He hands Brennan a card, Misha does, too, and sternly insists, “We’ll be in touch.”

Twenty minutes later they’re at Susette’s house to view a black eye and matching marks on her knuckles.

“Are you okay?” Misha asks, sympathy and care flowing around them. 

She seems regretful when she slants her eyes away from them. “Yeah, we just had a … disagreement.”

Jensen doesn’t bother pushing, especially not when she and her ten-year-old son vouch for Brennan being at their place, noting that Brennan had ordered pizza for them when he showed up around ten in the evening.

“You can tick off another one of your boxes,” Jensen mumbles on the way back to their car.

“I think I need a drink after all this.”

“I need a dozen.”

“It’s barely noon,” Misha chuckles.

“Hey, that means it’s p.m. We’re in the clear.”

Back at the Special Investigations Unit that evening, Misha and Jensen summarize their morning with Worthy.

“So we’re back at square one?” the detective asks.

“I don’t think you ever really left it,” Jensen shrugs. “I told you it wasn’t any of them.”

Worthy sighs and leans against Jensen’s desk. “None of her neighbors report anything. You wanna give them another go?”

The skin on Jensen’s arm prickles, wanting to do anything but toss himself back into a circle of anger, despair, and fear within a small community. 

It must be obvious because Misha is frowning at him and Worthy stands, tapping the edge of Jensen’s desk. “Just think about it. Maybe in the morning with a full night’s sleep.”

Once they’re alone, and Worthy is in the hallway, Jensen breathes easy, feeling his heart slow down to an even clip. 

“I could go on my own,” Misha offers, eyes sad and concentrating on Jensen’s face. 

“You shouldn’t have to.” Jensen wants to kick himself for the sudden impulse to run, but it happens every case; it’s been growing stronger in the last year. He just needs to survive long enough to keep moving. 

“Just, if you need some time to rest.”

“I’m fine, Misha.”

“You never use my name when you’re fine.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his computer, typing up his notes from the day and adding in extra points he remembers. As he types, he can feel a slight tremor of his desk followed by warmth that eases his bones. Slowly, he glances across the desk to Misha’s, where his partner has his palm spread on the desktop and is obviously trying to overpower him.

“Don’t,” Jensen grunts. 

Misha lifts his hands in submission then quickly mumbles, “Padalecki.”

“What about him?”

“Three o’clock.”

Sure enough, when Jensen looks right, Jared is in the hallway with Worthy. The conversation seems cordial, though awkward as Jared smiles and rattles on about something Worthy is crossing his arms against and leaning away from.

“How did you …?” Jensen asks, still watching Jared smile animatedly as he talks.

“The kid bleeds good times.”

When Jared motions at the SIU office and looks towards them, Jensen spins back to his desk to type again. “I wish he’d bleed somewhere else.”

“That ain’t happening any time soon.”

“Hey, guys,” Jared announces as he enters the office. He tugs a chair up to the desks and sits on it backwards. “How is the case going?”

Jensen stares at his screen, swearing at the blinking cursor that means he’s no longer writing and is instead acknowledging Jared’s presence. “ _Our_ case is going just fine.” 

“Glad to hear that. Listen, I’ve got something that could help.”

“We don’t need your help,” Jensen says, typing again just to appear busy. “Except to check in on a Susette Willis.”

“What about her?”

Jensen aims a sharp, angry smile at Jared as he points at his face. “Her boyfriend’s fist had a disagreement with her eye.”

Jared’s eyes widen and he whistles low. “I will definitely pass that on.”

“What’d you find?” Misha asks and Jensen wants to ring his neck for involving Jared with their case.

“Well,” Jared says happily, tapping his fingers at Jensen’s desk, “A woman in Building B said she heard shouting around 8:15 in the courtyard.”

“And?”

“And the couple in apartment 105, next to Ellen Thompson’s bedroom, say that her TV was going pretty loudly until about eight.”

Jensen dazes as he watches his screen and starts to fit Jared’s comments together with their crime scene. “The TV wasn’t on when they found the body.”

“Right,” Jared agrees with a point of his finger. “It went off shortly before the voices were heard out in the courtyard.”

“So?”

“So maybe your vic was just resting with the TV on, but then the murderer turns it up louder when he’s about to kill, to drown out any noises. Then he does it, turns off the TV, and leaves.”

“You did find the remote in her bed,” Misha points out.

Jensen watches Misha and starts to work out the scene in his head, cycles back through the visions he had witnessed in Ellen Thompson’s bedroom. His sight blurs the longer he stares unfocused. “There were weird lights. Something flickering.”

“When?” Jared asks, obviously confused. “What are you talking about?”

Misha goes on, “Did you hear anything?”

“It was all just buzzing in my ears. Then it kind of became a roar,” Jensen admits as more pieces slot into place the longer he thinks about it. “I just thought it was the emotion, but it could have been the TV.”

Jared sucks in a breath and Jensen turns to Jared watching him in awe. “Holy shit. You’re a Psychometric.”

The soft memory of that morning slips away, replaced by Jensen’s guard. “Cognitive,” he corrects. 

“A cognitive only senses … Still. I didn’t know that you could actually see—”

“What about the fight outside?” Jensen asks, cutting Jared off and looking at his partner. 

“When the woman looked outside,” Jared reports once he’s recovered from fawning over Jensen, “She saw a young man on the running path who was trying to get out of the area pretty fast.”

Turning to Jared, Jensen sighs. “How do you know all this?” 

“I asked,” he replies, flat-toned, like Jensen is an idiot for asking. “I _am_ a police officer.”

“Who is not on this case.”

“Jen,” Misha butts in calmly. “Maybe it’s not so bad? Having another set of eyes on this?” 

“Yeah, _Jen_ ,” Jared says with a bright smile.

When Jensen glares at him, Misha shakes his head and rises. “You want coffee? I want coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jensen consents.

“Jared? You up for some good java?”

Jensen scowls at his partner then Jared when Jared happily accepts. He sends another irritated glance at Misha’s back when Jensen is left alone with Jared. 

“So, I was thinking,” Jared starts.

“Did you hurt your head?”

“No, I didn’t.” He smiles and scoots his chair even closer to Jensen’s desk and rests his arms on the surface. “Since I’ve already started doing some of the legwork, maybe we can team up on this. My connections and people skills could perfectly counter your psychokinetics.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“What way?”

“In any way,” Jensen grumbles. 

“But just think—”

“First off, I’ve already got a partner, and his telempathy already perfectly counters my _cognizance_. Second, Worthy is leading the case. And third, you’re not even in homicide. You’re just a kid trying to play a game.”

Jared lifts an eyebrow and sucks in a quick breath. “Pretty sure I already proved that I’m not a kid.”

“Oh shut up,” Jensen blurts, part embarrassed but mostly angered. “Just stop that.”

Jared shifts back, shoulders broad and his neck long as he assesses Jensen for an unnervingly long time. The longer Jensen looks into Jared’s searching eyes, he can feel a prickle grow beneath his skin, something muddying his own judgment that spins his distrust into wonder.

 _Jared’s_ wonder.

It’s been a long time since Jensen’s experienced a shift in his emotions that wasn’t attributed to his partner’s own powers. Jensen was far too young to truly understand what it was when it happened with his parents, and especially his sister, long ago buried his real issues with the ability. He now recognizes it quite easily so he shifts from Jared to his computer screen.

“It’s been a long day,” Jensen excuses tiredly.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” Jared says quietly. 

Jensen bristles and rereads the last lines he had typed when Jared first showed up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are. Overcompensating for your powers.”

“I’m not overcompensating.”

“The whole strong man act perfectly covers the frailty in your mind.”

The confidence in Jared’s reasoning immediately sends Jensen into a fit of discomfort. He wipes at his nose and logs out of his computer program then rises with anger flooding him. He glances near Jared, but not at him; he won’t dare to meet Jared’s careful gaze. “You can read all you want in a textbook. But you’re not doctor. And you’re not a homicide detective, either, so you can quit bothering us with your theories.”

Jared stands and reaches for Jensen’s arm, fingers curling around Jensen’s biceps and keeping him in place. Jensen could certainly move away—the hold isn’t that tight—but he’s frozen in place with a shock running through his system, his own faculties bending for Jared’s. Guilt and sympathy coil in Jensen’s gut when he finally looks at Jared. 

“I’m sorry,” Jared murmurs. “I didn’t mean to say too much.”

Jensen pulls his arm away and leaves. He passes Misha and grabs a coffee from him without a word to keep moving into the hallway. 

He runs into Worthy near the elevators, mind still spinning at the way Jared had infiltrated his wall of resistance. He considers telling Misha about it, to figure out how it’s happened now, but his instincts tell him to flee the sensations. 

“Jensen,” Worthy says firmly, “I was thinking about what Padalecki said.”

Jensen quickly jabs the down button, praying the elevator comes to let him escape. He doesn’t need to discuss the Special Victims officer any more, doesn’t want to even think of him, or even hear his name. 

“We need to find the peeping tom and that jogger. Maybe it’s a fit for the shouting the neighbor heard.”

The floor numbers above the elevator door count up to five and Jensen swears the lights stall at three for far too long. He punches the button again as he watches the numbers shift to four.

“Ackles?” Worthy snaps. “You listening? Do you even care?”

“Yeah,” he responds warily. “I’ll talk to Misha about it.”

“I think you should get over there ASAP, before we lose this guy. You two have to pinpoint him.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“I mean it, Ackles.” Worthy pins Jensen in place with a fierce look, even when the elevator finally dings open, keeping them in the elevator lobby while others pass around them. “Don’t lose my killer.”

“We won’t,” Jensen insists.

Worthy nods. “Okay. And take Padalecki with you. He’s already in with those residents. They probably know what the peeper looks like.”

“Right, of course. Padalecki,” he mumbles as Worthy walks away. “ _Of course_.”


	2. Part Two

Over the next two days, Jensen and Misha meet up with Jared to interview residents in Ellen Thompson’s building and the one across the creek. Five doors in a row, they get five similar descriptions of a man with shaggy blond hair who walks a large grey dog through their complex. Most insist he doesn’t live in the area, one man reports that while out for a run, he’s seen the blond leaving a building from the complex that’s connected by the creek and adjacent path.

Jensen has to admit that Jared has been helpful through introductions and questioning, taking enough of the lead that Jensen could stew quietly in the background while Misha mentally hunted around each apartment for anything that triggered him. 

“Just, think real hard,” Jared kindly asks a working mom set to leave for an evening shift and insists she doesn’t have time to talk. “You ever see anyone hanging around in the building?”

As she steps into the hall, the woman calls goodbye to her children, five from what Jensen could see, toddler up to teenager. She shakes her head as she locks the door and checks it to be sure. “I’m never really home that late, I already told you. I’ve got the night shift then a morning shift at another shop.”

“What about your children? Maybe they’ve seen someone?”

“I’m really sorry, it’s awful about that young girl, but I don’t know.” 

As she walks towards the front lobby, Jared follows to give her his card and Jensen sighs. Suddenly, they both stop. The woman looks towards her apartment, points and shrugs, and carries on with the rest of her night.

Jensen and Misha share a look, unsure of what’s just happened to bring such a bright, proud smile to Jared’s face. 

“What’s going on?” Jensen asks harshly.

“Something good?” Misha guesses.

“No, not good. I don’t like that face.”

Jared frowns then rolls his eyes before knocking at the door. “Please. You liked that face when—”

Jensen knocks harder at the door to interrupt and when Misha asks what he’s doing, Jensen sighs. “I don’t even know.”

The slides open a few inches with a chain lock in place and the teenage daughter glancing at them without a word.

“Hey, Tracey,” Jared says warmly. “Your mom told me you’ve been spending your weekends as a dogwalker? Have you ever seen a guy with …”

As Jared goes on with his questions, Jensen does his best to not let his mouth drop open, because now the young girl is giving them a detailed account of where she sees the man with the shaggy hair walk his dog every Saturday morning. It includes a long stroll along the creek and up to this building, though she’s unsure if he just meanders this way or ends his path here.

When they’re done getting her statement, Jared’s eyes are sparkling and Jensen’s irritation at Jared getting this break ebbs into self-satisfaction. He then realizes that he and Jared are staring at one another, that Jared is bleeding into him once again.

He’s broken from the shared emotions when Misha slaps Jared on the shoulder and steers them onto the next door.

On the second day, the last few doors go unanswered, apartments dark and empty as the sun draws over the property. Light shines off the creek, and Jensen is strangely mesmerized by the tiny ripples in the surface of the water that create a sparkling effect in the daytime.

“What do you think?” Misha asks from Jensen’s side.

“Gotta check the next complex.” When Misha checks his watch, Jensen thinks of his partner’s family at home. They’re on a case, but there are limits to what Jensen will keep his partner from. “You have plans?”

“Doctor’s appointment. First ultrasound.”

Jensen smirks and recalls Misha’s easy happiness when announcing his wife was expecting their second child. “There’s only one first ultrasound, man.”

“Yeah, I know.” Misha nods yet frowns. “But we can’t keep someone out there for another night.”

“I can go check it out,” Jared offers.

Reminded that Jared is still with them, Jensen glances at him and goes from irritation to contrition when Jared frowns and sighs, taking a step or two away. 

“I can head out on my own to ask around. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Jensen mumbles. “You should have back-up just in case.” He pats Misha then nudges him away with a small smile. “Go on home, see your new baby girl.”

Misha smiles back. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I’ve got a feeling on it.” He pushes Misha once more. “Go on, we’ll be fine without you.”

“I know you will.”

Even when Misha’s statement seems to be enough to end on, he rubs over Jensen’s shoulder and lets out a wave of patience before he leaves. 

Jared motions down the path and Jensen walks forward, feeling the remnants of Misha’s comfort ease his bones. “So, at some point,” Jared says, hesitant, “we should get an artist down here to sketch the suspect, right?”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “But not until we’re more certain he’s our guy.”

“You don’t think he is?”

“I think it’s possible there’s more than one creep around here.”

Jared chuckles and Jensen reluctantly smiles. “Is it something you can really tell?” When Jensen aims a confused look Jared’s way, Jared flips his hand in circles as though he’s digging for the right phrasing. “Like, with the empathy? Can you tell that there’s more than one thing going on now?”

Jensen tucks his hands into his pants pockets and pulls in a deep breath of fresh air. He’s not used to discussing it; many people these days think oddly of him for even being an Empath, let alone what his specific abilities are. He knows there’s no good time to explain it to Jared, or that he doesn’t really have to. Still, he winds up saying, “No, I can’t. That’s not how it works.”

“How does it work?” Suddenly, Jared seems freaked, nervous, and prepared for Jensen to attack. “I mean, if you don’t mind explaining it.”

He does, no matter who’s asking, but he figures it helps to explain it to the only guy who will have his back if something backfires during these interviews. “I’m a Cognitive, so it’s kind of different from many of the others. I can pick up on some emotions, mostly those with extreme harm.”

“Like a car accident?”

“If it’s an angry one,” Jensen mumbles. As Jared frowns and glances at him, Jensen decides to finally just admit it. “It’s mostly in cases of violence, or rage.”

“So, you’re good at picking out the bad guys, then? That’s pretty cool.”

Jensen hesitantly smiles whereas Jared is grinning. “Not quite. It’s typically latent.”

“Oh, okay.” After a moment, Jared scratches behind his ear. “What does that really mean?”

“Just, that, I don’t usually pick up on it unless it’s a large group. Otherwise, I kind of search for it.”

“Usually?”

Jensen clears his throat, feeling them skating close to the edge of his discomfort in this topic. “When I was younger, I would pick up individuals. Mostly those I was extremely close with. My mom, dad, sister.”

Jared aims a soft, interested look at Jensen. “Why doesn’t it work that way now?”

He shrugs, not knowing how to truly explain it. He doesn’t really want to anyway. He figures it’s mostly because he doesn’t allow himself close relationships anymore. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve heard of some psychome—cognitives, I mean,” Jared corrects with a small smile, “who share trauma or even a long-distance connection with those that they’re most aligned with.”

Jensen sucks in a long breath and focuses on his feet stepping forward. That’s pretty much what happened to him, exactly what he experienced. It doesn’t mean he’s capable of discussing it; he never really has been.

“So how does your ability help with the cases then?”

Jensen slows to a stop in front of the building they’re set to check out. Jared is next to him, watching carefully, and Jensen still isn’t sure how to describe it, even after decades of living with it. “I connect with the victims,” is the best he comes up with.

Jared frowns with raised eyebrows, which somehow annoys Jensen. He’s not sure what he wanted to get in response, but pity certainly isn’t it. “Like when they die?”

Shrugging again, Jensen shifts away from Jared. “Someone has to.”

“That’s really noble.”

“Noble,” Jensen snorts. “Right.”

Jared sets his hand to Jensen’s shoulder and there’s immediate relief to the icy tendrils that were beginning to coil in his stomach. “It’s not like you _have_ to do that, you know?”

“Yeah, well, what else am I gonna do with it?” Jensen brushes off. 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to witness that all the time.”

Jensen figures they’ve discussed this enough. “So, once we’re inside—”

“You can take the lead,” Jared says, following the subject change. “I’ll just observe.”

“No, you won’t.” When Jared looks over, Jensen shrugs. “You’ve been doing a good job so far.”

“Thank you,” Jared replies softly.

Jensen pulls the front door open and lets Jared slip in before him. “Besides, you wanted experience on the job, not a backseat, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Ignoring how Jared’s thrilled smile is affecting his breathing, Jensen walks to the first apartment on the left. “Good. Then do your thing and I’ll be sure to tell you when you make a mistake.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jared chuckles. 

Surprising them both, Jensen doesn’t have to.

A handful of residents nod to the description of the man with the dog, yet no one knows what his name is or what apartment he lives in. At the north end of the second floor, a dog barks and Jensen immediately sparks to life, heat coursing his veins.

“It’s not our guy,” Jared says as they step up to the door. 

“Why not?”

“It’s gonna be a tiny puffball. I bet you.”

Jensen narrows his eyes at Jared, even as the rough growling continues on. “What’s the wager?”

“Dinner.”

He lifts an eyebrow and continues to watch Jared, feeling warm with the guy’s cocky insistence. 

“Not like that,” Jared insists. “Just, two guys, two burgers, your dime.”

Jensen knocks on the door as he continues to look at Jared. He licks his lips with his own burst of confidence. “And beers.”

Jared grins. “You’re on.”

When the door swings open to a tall blond male, Jensen clears his throat and they both show their badges. “Agent Ackles, this is Detective Padalecki. If we can have a few moments of your time?”

The man tucks a few strands of dark blond hair behind his ear and nervously smiles. “Uh, sure, yeah, come on in.” 

They slowly follow him inside and Jensen’s nerves itch with interest of finding this guy in the apartment with the dog growling from the front room. The hair fits the description, though a bit shorter, sure. A haircut isn’t out of the question. The kitchen is a mess and the garbage is overflowing, which also triggers Jensen’s suspicions.

That is, until there’s a high-pitched squeal, and the patter of quick footsteps coming at them. Jensen reaches for the weapon at his hip and plants his feet in a firm stance. 

“Becca, what’re you doing?” the man complains. A second later, a toddler is running into his arms, still squealing and now laughing. “You need to leave Pola alone.”

Jensen eases his hand off the butt of his gun, confused even further when the dog barking becomes more like excitable squawks. A short-legged, white Yorkie nips at the edges of the man's jeans, and Jensen groans with the knowledge that he’s lost the bet. 

Jared’s already grinning at him. “And beers,” he repeats Jensen’s words. 

“I’m so sorry detectives,” the man says in a rush, putting the girl down. He shoos her back into the living room and leads them to the kitchen table in the back corner. Once they’re seated, he brushes hair away from his face again. “What can I do for you?”

Jared starts talking, asking about the area and its safety, asking about his neighbors and his own residence here. The easy demeanor Jared carries keeps the man—Paul Wilson, he introduces—answering like there’s no reason to worry. 

Jensen watches the man talk and he realizes that his face is rather shapely, handsome even, whereas many descriptions talked about pinched eyes and a fat-ended nose, scruff covering the lower end of the face. 

Jensen starts to ask Paul about any questionable residents, about other pets in the building, but Paul comes up empty every time. Nervously laughs that he works long hours and that his wife, a stay-home mom, may know more, but she won’t be home for a few hours.

He’s about to call it quits when Becca comes running in to beg about going to the dog park that her mom always takes her to. Jensen is suddenly more interested in the tiny dog than he thought he would be.

“Hey, uh, Becca,” Jensen asks, “What’s your doggie’s name?”

She leans against her father, nearly hiding her face at his knee. “Pola.”

“Did you name her?”

“Daddy let me.”

Jensen smiles up at Paul then again to Becca. “It’s a cute name. Where’d you get it?”

She seems annoyed when she furrows her brow and pushes long blonde hair out of her face. “’Cause he look like a pola bear, duh.”

Jared gives Jensen a look that says he’s on Becca’s side, and Jensen shakes his head. “Well of course she does. “

“Pola’s a boy!” Becca insists and Jensen sits back in his chair with a small sigh. 

Children are definitely high on his list of problems with people. 

“Becca,” Jared interrupts with a soft, loveable tone, “Do you go to the park a lot?”

She now leans comfortably at her dad’s side and talks with her hands. “Momma takes me during the week. We watch the doggies run and Pola gets to play with his friends.”

“Does he have any big friends?” Jared asks, sitting forward with a friendly smile. 

“Yeah, a couple. A yellow one and a brown one.”

“Do you ever see any grey ones?”

She thinks it over, biting her lower lip the longer it takes her to remember. “There’s one downstairs. But his daddy don’t let him play with all the other doggies.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too big and rough. And his daddy is weird.”

Jensen leans forward, dropping his shoulders and head so he can be more on level with the little girl, trying for all he can to actually do some good here. He wants to make sure he doesn’t intimidate her and just keeps the chat easy even while they’re getting info out of her. “How is he weird?”

“I don’t think he ever has bath time.”

“Becca,” Paul admonishes her. He combs her hair down her back. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

She looks up at her dad and frowns. “But he always smells dirty.”

“What does he look like?”

“Like Scooby Doo. But greyer.”

Jensen glances at Jared, who’s just smiling in return when he explains, “The dog, a Great Dane.” Jensen nods then lets Jared ask her what the owner looks like.

He swears there are chills running down his spine when she says, “He has hair like me, but Momma and I brush it. I don’t think he does. And his face looks like Porky Pig.”

Jared casually pushes at the edge of his nose and Jensen recognizes the descriptions they received earlier: a fat-edged nose. 

Jensen minutely nods for Jared to continue talking to her in the same friendly, sweet manner he’s been with her. “Do you know which apartment the doggie lives in?”

She slowly shakes her head. “No, but I see him go down the hallway below us.”

“That’s awesome, Becca,” Jared gushes with his huge palm out to high five her. “You’ve got a really great memory.” In a stage whisper he asks, “You think your daddy will mind if we give you a piece of candy for being such an awesome junior police officer?”

Jensen watches in amazement when Jared pulls a few Tootsie Rolls from his pocket to share with the little girl, who is bubbling with excitement that she could help them. She runs off to the living room where Pola is curled up in a doggie bed by the window and tells him that they’re going to be the new police guards for their building now. 

Paul seems equally proud and embarrassed when he leads them out the door and gives them directions to the dog park at the end of the walking trail, further from Ellen Thompson’s apartment. On their way down to the first floor, Jensen calls Worthy to tell him what they’ve found, and he’s told that Worthy will be on his way over to further investigate along with them. 

Meanwhile, Jensen tries to ignore the flutter of acceptance, even approval, for Jared’s abilities. He does recognize a flash of annoyance for even considering the fact that he likes working alongside Jared. 

They check the apartment doors that had gone unanswered on their earlier sweep through the building, yet still nothing yields either their potential suspect or a grey Great Dane. In the end, they wait outside for Worthy and his partner to show up. 

While they lean against the front half-wall that provides an attractive, dark brick façade to the entrance, Jared pops a Tootsie Roll in his mouth and offers one to Jensen.

“No, thanks. I had enough sugar watching you with that little kid.”

Jared chuckles. “Yeah, kids are like sponges. You just gotta know how to get through to them, then you squeeze ‘em for all the juicy details.”

Jensen crosses his arms and watches a middle-aged man jog down the pathway at an even pace, strands of his earbuds swaying across his body. He wonders if that’s the jogger heard shouting the night of Ellen Thompson’s death, and he continues to watch the man’s pace as he considers the possibility. Through it all, he remembers Jared’s comment and replies, “Apparently through the power of cartoon.”

“Hey, you gotta know your subjects.”

Jensen makes a short noise and keeps observing the area.

“If you wanna go prowl, I’m fine to wait for Worthy on my own.”

He lifts his gaze from the departing jogger to Jared eying him back. “Excuse me?”

“If you wanna hit up Mr. Rogers over there,” he says, waving at the guy who’s nearly out of sight, “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“I’m not,” Jensen complains. “I don’t want to _prowl_. Jesus Christ. We’re on a job right now.”

Jared crosses his shoulders and looks across the creek, likely at nothing in particular. “I was just offering, in case I’m keeping you down. Paul Wilson wasn’t too bad looking either.”

“What are you talking about?” Jensen scowls at Jared, unsure if he’s more offended by Jared suggesting Jensen’s that unprofessional or if it’s just because it’s Jared saying it.

When Jared brushes it off with a flippant, “Nothing,” Jensen feels irritation boil inside, bringing perspiration to his temples.

He wipes away the sweat, but still feels it coming in constant measure. When Jared fidgets in place, Jensen’s startled to realize he’s reliving the moment in the precinct a few days ago, or even the day before when Jared got them a break on the teenage dogwalker. Those few times that Jared’s intense responses had flooded Jensen’s own senses. 

Jensen’s brain flips into flight mode and he’s itching to run away from Jared. He can’t handle this power that overtakes him, or his own failure to keep it at bay. For years, he’s constructed layers upon layers of defenses, and he’s pissed at himself—and Jared—that they’re collapsing now. 

For the first time in a long time, he wishes his partner were here to steady him. 

Jensen wipes his face free of sweat once again, anxiety now blending with Jared’s petulance, and Jared side-eyes him. 

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Jensen angrily laughs. 

A thin layer of worry slinks beneath all of Jensen’s churning emotions as Jared pushes off the building to stand closer. “What’s wrong?” He checks out the area, eyes wide with focused concern. “Is there something going on?”

“No, damnit,” Jensen spits out as he steps back from Jared. “Just relax, alright? You relax and I’ll relax, and we’ll be fine until Worthy gets here. And stand, like, over there, or something,” he adds with a rough motion to the other side of the entryway. 

Jared frowns and moves, which alleviates plenty of Jensen’s tension so he’s operating at a normal level of uneasiness. His stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t eaten since early that morning, and it was just half a donut on the road. Once he gets some sustenance in him, a little bit of rest in there, too, he can build his walls back up to full power, so to speak.

They remain silent until Worthy shows up with a handful of uniforms following his trail. Jensen stays a decent distance from Jared as a group gathers near them to hear the full story of what had been uncovered about their potential suspect living on the first floor on the north end of the building and a description of his face and the Great Dane he’s often seen with. 

Worthy grins at them both and genially slaps them each on the back. “Great work guys. Stop at _The Badge_ tonight, and drinks are on me.”

Jared is shyly proud with a smile and short laugh. “Appreciated.”

“But no thanks,” Jensen says quickly. “Got other stops to make, including the food I haven’t had all day.”

“You sure?” Worth asks.

“Jensen owes me dinner,” Jared mentions and Jensen isn’t sure if he’s thankful to have a real reason to not fraternize with his coworkers or pissed off that Jared’s made it about them. 

“Oh?”

Jensen does his best to not make it sound more than it is, even when it really isn’t anything to begin with. It just feels like everything Jared does or says becomes more. “Lost a bet,” he admits.

Worthy chuckles. “Didn’t know you were the betting kind. I’ll have to keep that in mind for the horses.”

“Well, Jensen lost on a dog,” Jared says, “So I’m not sure you want him anywhere near a track.”

“Ready to head out?” Jensen cuts in, terse and tired. “You’ve got my notes,” he tells Worthy, “So you should be set from here on out.”

Worthy gives a short salute. “Good job, guys. When we get someone in custody, we’ll call you.”

On the way to the car, Jared is frowning and Jensen can’t keep his restraint to not ask what’s wrong.

“I didn’t realize you’re just cut off now. All the work you do to get them to the main event and you’re not invited.”

Jensen doesn’t reply until they’re in the car and he’s revving the engine over the anger in his voice. “Yeah, well, what do you want?”

“How about _Shooter’s_?”

“What?” Jensen asks, confused by Jared mentioning a sports bar at least two towns over. 

Jared smiles. “They’ve got half-pound burgers that are almost the size of my face.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles. Now he’s annoyed that he has to spend more time with Jared, that he lost a stupid bet about a dog. “Before, with the—”

“I know,” Jared admits evenly. “I was giving you the out. Besides, we’re off-duty now, right? No need to keep talking work.”

Jensen’s never been happier to agree with Jared.

“You are a total lightweight,” Jared grunts, fumbling to lead them up the sidewalk to Jensen’s place.

“Am not,” Jensen sighs. He huffs a breath when Jared tugs him off the lawn and to the cement, and now he’s dizzy beyond belief. And perhaps he was a bit of lightweight tonight, because he swears they only had a handful of beers a piece and had laced their stomachs with burgers that were truly almost as big as their heads. 

“I’m just tired,” Jensen insists, because that’s definitely part of it, too. Keeping his walls up all evening while Jared was friendly and laughing through random conversations drained Jensen of most of his energy. At dinner, Jared had stayed away from work topics, but did try to casually ask more about Jensen’s condition. Jensen cut him off at every turn and spent half the time watching basketball on the flat screens over the bar and listening to Jared blabber on about his short-lived dream of playing pro ball when he was eight, but at the time he was, surprisingly, shorter than most of the kids in his class. 

Now Jensen is imagining Jared in a sleeveless jersey, memory filling in the strength in those arms that Jensen had experienced more than a week ago. He drifts off to those legs and remembers the press of tight thighs against the back of his own, and he groans. He hates himself for recalling that moment right now, when Jared is standing too close with a shoulder shoved under Jensen’s arm to keep him upright at the doorway.

“’m just tired. Sleepin’ too little, workin’ too much.”

Jared turns his head to look at Jensen and they are only inches apart, eyes honed in on one another. Jensen blinks when he can feel Jared’s want sink into his own bones, and he gulps as he pushes away from Jared. 

“But I’m fine now,” Jensen insists. He grabs his keys from Jared and gets the door unlocked so he can escape inside. He only let Jared drive him home because they had been travelling in his car anyway, and Jared had insisted Jensen was in no shape to drive himself home.

As soon as he’s inside, his cat runs through the doorway with a tiny meow, and he belatedly remembers he should have checked on the black tabby. “Oh, shit, she…”

“Hey there, baby,” Jared coos, having swept her up into his arms, and strokes over her jaw. He steps inside and tugs the door shut with his foot, all while giving the cat long strokes over the bend of her spine. “I don’t remember you the other night.”

Jensen clenches his eyes shut at the thought, but refuses to comment on it.

“And what’s your name?”

He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a tall glass of water, drinking a good deal before he answers. “Crazyface.”

Jared looks flatly at Jensen. “I really hope you didn’t name her.”

“I did,” he admits. “Misha and I found her at an abandoned apartment of a suspect.”

“Really?” 

Jensen shrugs, feeling odd to share this bit of Good Samaritan in him. “Yeah, it was gonna be short-term, until we could find a spot for her with the humane society, but they were full and I got a little forgetful about finding a place for her.”

“How noble,” Jared says with a smirk. “Except for the atrocity of her name.”

“Trust me, she earned it.”

Jared holds her up in front of his face and smiles at her. “I can hardly believe that, this adorable, soft, pretty, little—”

Just then, she fidgets in place and howls as she tries to get out of Jared’s hold. Jared adjusts his hands to keep a handle on her, then she lets out a fierce _reowww!_ and scrabbles up his neck and shoulder to jump down to the floor. 

Jensen feels a flash of shared pain then laughs. “And now you see?”

Jared rubs at his neck, flinching when he touches the scratches. “Jesus, yeah, I guess.”

Against his better judgment, Jensen invites Jared into the kitchen, makes him sit in a dining chair, and gets out antiseptic spray and cotton wipes to clean the wounds. Jared is practically admiring Jensen as he patiently lets Jensen clean his wounds. There’s a quick spark of Jared’s awe, but then Jensen focuses more strictly on cleaning the scratches and he cuts Jared off with another cognitive block. 

“Cats are tough, huh?” Jared chuckles softly.

“Yeah, sometimes.” 

After a few moments of awkward silence, Jared says, “I’m more of a dog guy, myself.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Jensen deadpans.

Jared smiles up at him. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re, just, like a giant puppy yourself.”

“Is that what reeled you in at _Baron’s_?”

Now Jared is smirking at him, eyes intent on Jensen’s face, and Jensen can’t chance another mistake where Jared is concerned. 

After a long, shared look, Jared’s face morphs into something more caring and he bites his lower lip before opening his mouth to speak. “Did something happen? To make your powers change?”

Jensen’s breath catches and he blinks slowly. “What?”

“To make you this way.”

Now he scowls. “What way?”

“So uptight and cut off.”

He flinches away like he’s been burnt, drops the used cotton pads on the table, and nervously wipes his hands on his pants. “Alright, looks like you’re good.”

“Jensen, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately. 

“No, it’s fine.” He flashes a fake smile and hears the click of yet another shield falling into place, precautionary tactic and all in case Jared starts fishing for more conversation. “It’s late anyway. And you’ve gotta get all the way back home now.”

Jared stands and is careful when he goes on. “I was just wondering, because I sometimes feel like you maybe have real emotions, but then you—”

“Look, just because we hooked up once,” Jensen spits out, “doesn’t mean you get to psychoanalyze anything.”

Jared, sighs and nods as he moves away, but then stalls in the doorway to the living room. “You know,” he starts quietly. “I’ve been thinking about that night a lot. And not even the sex, really. Which was incredible, don’t get me wrong. But what sticks in my mind was that instant connection, to be so tuned into someone. It was really good.” Jared’s eyes are intent on Jensen as he says, “And I swear I keep feeling that.”

Jensen roughly swallows because that connection is something he keeps facing with Jared, and he wonders if Jared truly knows that Jensen experiences it, too. It just might be more fucked up if Jared doesn’t and is just flying without a parachute here to throw himself back out of the plane no matter how many times Jensen pushes him away. 

Jared clears his throat and pastes on a smile that, sadly, Jensen can read as awkward. It’s a poor imitation of the real ability for Jared to light up a room. “Thanks for letting me tag along the last few days.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jensen responds quickly. “You did good out there. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

“Really?”

Jensen asks himself that as well, unsure why he bothered to offer. “Yeah, of course,” he excuses away with a flippant wave. “It’s half your case now, anyway.”

Out of politeness, Jensen escorts Jared to the door. Once the sound of Jared’s car has faded away, Jensen’s cat struts across the room and twines between his legs. He thinks of picking her up, but he truly is exhausted from a long, busy day of building up ever-crumbling walls in his mind. 

He leans against the inside of his front door and thinks it’s suddenly way too quiet without Jared chattering away. 

When he heads to bed, he swears he can still smell something faintly _Jared_ in his sheets, even though he’d changed them the night they slept together. No thanks to his exhaustion, his mind starts to replay moments with Jared over the last week and he falls asleep thinking of the way Jared has slowly wormed his way behind all of Jensen’s carefully constructed defenses.

A few days later, Jensen is in SIU when Worthy calls him about another body at the apartment complex. This one has been found in the forest preserve, a good fifty feet from the edge of the path, when a couple was walking their dog who strayed off into the brush.

Jensen feels tense to head over to the Special Victims Division on the third floor, though those feelings shift into something a bit easier to handle when he approaches Jared. Surprisingly, a subtle dose of confidence and comfort washes over Jensen as he steps just inside the bullpen, as his mind zones in on Jared.

Jared glances up from the conversation he’s having with another detective at a nearby desk. He sits up straight and offers a strained smile. “Hey, Jensen.”

“Hey, Jared,” he replies nearly as awkward as Jared. “I’m sure you’ve got enough going on down here, but can we steal you for a few hours?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jared jumps up and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair then swiftly follows Jensen out of the office area. “Did they find the guy?”

“No, unfortunately.” Jensen sighs and pushes the down button for the elevator. “They found your jogger.”

Jared doesn’t look at Jensen, just continues staring at the wall, but his distress is palatable all the same. Guilt and anger and sorrow spin together, and Jensen is hardly surprised. It’s how he felt when he first heard. 

“So what do you need from me?” Jared finally asks once they’re in the elevator. 

“We could use as many guys as possible.” After a moment, he tries to dismiss his own impulse to get Jared to help. “Worthy insisted.”

Jared numbly nods. “That’s good, yeah, I’m happy to help. Whatever you need.” Jared’s nod becomes stronger as they head out into the sunshine of the afternoon. “So, if it’s the same guy, and I’m assuming he’s trying to cover his tracks, why would he wait so long?”

Jensen swallows. “I don’t think he waited all that long. It just took a while to find the body.”

Widening his eyes, Jared obviously gets Jensen’s point. “How far is decomp?”

“Quite a few days.” At Jared’s ill look, Jensen insists, “You don’t have to be there at the scene. I have to stop by and do my thing, but then we’ll check out the neighbors to find out where the suspect is. Misha’s at the guy’s apartment now and he says it feels pretty empty, like no one’s been home in a while.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Like I said, whatever you need me to do.”

“Thanks. We appreciate it.”

Just as Jensen had expected, the scene is a mess. It rained last night so the forest is wet and muddy, and the officers and crime scene techs are making the area worse no matter how hard they try not to. The young male jogger is dressed in bright shorts and a formerly white top that’s dirty and torn at the bottom hem as well as at the neck where dark bruises tell of strangulation.

It’s an odd fact, but Jensen is thankful that the victim is on his back with eyes slightly open. He hopes it means he saw his killer so Jensen can give a positive ID to Worthy. 

All on the scene grant Jensen his space to work. Jared hangs back a few feet, but stays within distance. Even offers, “If you need anything, you know …”

Jensen nods in thanks as he stares at the man’s dull blue eyes and his vision goes hazy as he can feel Jared’s own worry slip in. It’s suddenly night time and the decorative lamps that dot the path offer the jogger some light. Jensen can feel his heart pounding in time with the vic’s, can hear feet smacking the hard pavement. His heart speeds up when a dark figure comes into view, leaning against a nearby tree. It gets even faster when there’s the ding of recognition that it’s the man from the night before. There’s a zing of memory, of a man with stringy blond hair hanging out from beneath a hoodie drawn over his head. The man had rushed from an apartment building that Jensen recognizes as Ellen Thompson’s and nearly tackled the jogger to the ground in his haste to get away. 

This time, he doesn’t almost; he successfully yanks the jogger to the ground and wrestles in the brush of the forest until he gets on top. Jensen feels the weight across his hips just as they were on the victim’s and there’s no way to move when the man’s knees tuck tight against his sides and he wraps his hands around his throat. 

Jensen’s breathing cuts off to a soft wheeze the tighter the man’s hands get and there’s the sting of the man’s fingernails cutting into the back of his neck. The man puts all of his upper body in shoving down on his neck and now there’s no air going in or out of the jogger’s wide mouth no matter how hard he struggles to breathe. 

The struggling makes it more difficult. Fighting against it forces the killer’s grip into a stranglehold and now not only is his breathing slowing, but so is the passing of blood to his brain. Jensen can feel his own limbs slowly going limp and finally numb until his vision completely whites out and he drops to the ground, losing all control of his muscles. 

Peripherally, he hears voices and sees blurry faces bending down to get close to him. Jared is first and he sounds panicked, but Jensen can’t speak. Jared presses his index and middle fingers to Jensen’s neck to seek out a pulse and it slowly comes back to life, thumping through Jensen’s body. He wants to tell them he’ll be okay, that it’s slowly returning to him, but his throat is rough and constricted.

“Get out of the way,” Jared yells, spreading his arms out for space. He then dives in to administer CPR, pressing his mouth to Jensen’s, forcing air in with five long breaths before leaning close to listen to Jensen’s breathing. Jared goes for another round until Misha shows up, shouting and shoving to get closer.

Misha kneels on the other side of Jensen, and again, Jensen tries to speak but his lips will hardly open and his brain is too sluggish to make himself move. He can just barely hear Misha ask what happened and Jared explaining that Jensen just passed out.

“Has this happened before?” Jared asks, angry yet nervous. “Is this what you guys do every time?”

“No, I’ve never seen him do this,” Misha responds just as frantically. He sets both palms to Jensen’s body, seeking out a hand and his neck to get down to skin immediately. “The jogger was strangled,” Misha complains, “And you let him do this?”

“I didn’t let him doing anything!”

Misha’s hands move to Jensen’s chest and now Jensen can feel the steady up and down of Misha’s own breathing replicated within his ribcage. “He feels everything they feel! If the vic’s not breathing while it happens, then neither is he.”

“I didn’t know,” Jared admits quietly and curls his hand around Jensen’s shoulder with a light touch.

In an instant, power zings through Jensen like a thousand little fires springing his muscles to life. His left arm flings out first, fingers grabbing at the sleeve of Jared’s jacket. Jared’s grip on his shoulder gets stronger and so does Jared, to the point he can finally lift his head off the ground a few inches and open his mouth to gulp in fresh air. 

“Jensen!” Misha yells, “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, Jensen nods. He’s still concentrating on how to breathe quickly enough to revive himself without going to the opposite end of hyperventilating and panic. When Jared shifts his arm to hold Jensen’s hand in both of his, Jensen presses his fingers to the back of Jared’s knuckles in a weak squeeze, thankful he has that much strength.

Jared nearly crushes Jensen’s hand with how hard he grips back. “Holy shit, you scared us,” Jared laughs hysterically. 

Jensen doesn’t pull away; the compression of his skin and bones is a welcome feeling after not being able to move for five minutes. “I’m fine,” he croaks out.

“Yeah, you’re real fine.” Misha sits back on his haunches. “Nearly killed yourself in the process.”

Jensen smiles a little. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

“And what would happen if I wasn’t here?”

His gaze slides to Jared and, once again, he feels warmth cover him in their instant connection. He acknowledges to himself that, while he could feel Misha’s powers working through his system, the second Jared touched his shoulder, it had all surged together with a force that pulled him back to life. 

“Whatever,” Misha says with a roll of his eyes and wave of his hand. “No more talking. Straight to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine.” Jensen clears his throat when his words are still rough around the edges. “I’m okay.”

Misha touches Jensen’s bicep for a second and shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe, but just do yourself a favor and do something right.”

Jensen struggles to sit up and then stand without getting dizzy, yet Jared is right there to help him up with strong arms around his waist and back. “I’m fine,” he repeats. 

“Maybe you ought to at least get checked out,” Jared suggests. “You smacked your noggin pretty hard.”

He reaches back to feel the crown of his head and it’s sore without much else of incident. “It seems okay.”

“Just … let me take you?” Jared asks with a sigh. “It’ll make me feel better. And Misha. Just to be sure?”

“What about the case?”

“There are a dozen guys out here and Misha.”

“Are you saying Misha’s not a guy?” By the end of his question, Jensen is beginning to smirk, and Jared follows suit.

“What kind of skeletons are in his closet?”

“Plenty, but you really don’t wanna dig in there.”

“Probably not. But what I really do want is for you to get your noggin checked out, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jensen agrees. “Just so long as you stop calling it my noggin.”

Jensen sits on the medical bench with an ice pack to the back of his head as a nurse checks his vitals. He’s not paying her any attention; Jared is stalking in the hallway, just outside the space they’ve taken Jensen to in the ER, consumed with a call on his cell. Jared has been silent for a little while before he rattles off a few comments, glances inside to Jensen, and gets back to walking back and forth, only stopping to flash his badge at a nurse’s assistant who insists he take his call elsewhere.

Another minute and the nurse, a middle-aged woman with swift hands and greying hair tied high on the back of her head, takes Jensen’s blood pressure. She tsks when she reports it’s far too high for a man his age and is especially troubling for an empath that can be triggered even worse at the drop of a hat.

As she asks general questions about his health, Jensen continues to watch Jared and knows what’s lifting his pressure right now. 

“What about work?” she asks.

“What about it?” he mumbles back.

“Have there been any changes there to explain the spike? Or in your personal life?”

“Both?” he harshly smiles. She lifts an eyebrow with a stern look, so he just waves towards the doorway where Jared is now standing still with one hand on his hip as he continues talking on his phone. “He’s kind of new, in both, and I’m struggling to adjust.”

The nurse now smiles sympathetically, soft lines framing her eyes and mouth. “It can take a while.”

“Says you,” he grumbles.

She pulls off her latex gloves and sets two fingers at Jensen’s pulse point. Within seconds, he feels relaxed, like he’s inhaled fresh air for the time in weeks. She’s an Empath, too, which does even more to settle Jensen’s nerves, knowing he can talk about matters that she would understand. 

“What court are you?”

She shrugs, like it’s not bother, no matter how awkward Jensen feels asking. “Pacemum. Health care is a pretty decent context for pacifiers, right?”

“Not too bad,” he replies with a small smile. 

“And you?”

One long breath steadies him, because it’s been so long since he’s truly admitted to it. “Psychometric.”

“In homicide,” she says, nodding then motioning towards Jared still in the hallway. “I can see the trouble. Especially here.”

“It’s been a week,” he offers. Lord knows he wishes he’d adapted by now.

“Well, it depends on the other party. He seems to be real bound to you.”

“Why do you …”

“It’s a powerful feeling floating between you.”

Jensen clears his throat and glances away from both Jared and the nurse, not wanting to contemplate what is really possible here. “What are you saying?”

“Siring?”

Jensen relives the crux of each connection he’s felt with Jared and then shakes them all out, as if truly considering them. Siring is an old wives' tale, he’s sure: a sudden, enduring connection to one of your kind. Besides, even if it were real, it’s said to only happen once in a lifetime, and Jensen was certain he had that with his sister before …

“No, no, no, we can’t,” Jensen insists with a rough laugh. 

“You said earlier that you were taking on his concern while you were linking with the body. It’s very likely that his connection remains open at all times, making you vulnerable during other links.”

He reconsiders the chance that it’s true, and realizes it makes sense even when he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. “We couldn’t, though. He’s not—he’s Null. That’s impossible.”

“I’m a Pacemum working in a hospital, and you came in here because you nearly died reliving a man’s murder. This world is nothing but possibilities.” She pats his knee and steps away when Jared enters the area. “He’s all yours,” she tells Jared.

“He’ll be okay?” Jared asks.

“Yes, I’ll live,” Jensen grumbles.

The nurse snorts. “So long as you don’t knock him out for his attitude, yes, he will live.”

Jared chuckles. “I might not be able to restrain myself, but it’s good to know.”

As the nurse leaves, she touches Jared’s arm and it’s obvious he notices her effect. He watches her go then slowly turns back to Jensen with wide eyes.

“She’s Pacemum,” Jensen explains plainly.

Still confused, Jared points over his shoulder to where the nurse had gone. “So, she just pacified me?”

Jensen removes his ice pack and stretches his neck. “Peacefully, but yeah. To the point, that’s it.”

“You’re really going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I just gotta rest a lot. And stay away from you apparently.” He’d meant for it to be a joke to cover up the fact, but it lands poorly and now they’re both wracked with disappointment. “You know,” he explains, “There’s a reason people like me can’t be a real detective. Not least of which is we’re not entirely trusted with interrogation. Misha’s powers in the wrong hands could convince suspects to plead guilty to the worst of things.”

Jared nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I remember hearing about that a long time ago.”

“But also because we’re a danger to ourselves, too.” He can’t believe his mouth is running off so quickly to tell Jared all of this. He figures, though, that Jared is owed the explanation after all of their push and pull in the last week. “If I were on the front lines, too close to the real criminals … I wouldn’t survive. I barely do now.”

Jared appears just as shocked that Jensen’s said it. Especially when he asks, “And where do I figure into all of what you’ve just said?”

He dumps the ice bag in the nearby garbage and looks up to Jared. “I don’t know. Siring maybe?”

Jared glances around the room and finally stares at Jensen, eyes soft and wide. “Like a direct link?”

Jensen shrugs. “If it’s … strong enough, I pick it up. And it’s bad where you’re concerned.”

“Bad,” Jared mumbles, glancing away. “Right, as a cognitive.”

There’s a sudden dip in Jensen’s stomach and he’s certain that he failed in this conversation, so he changes direction. “What was the mess on the phone?”

Jared takes the nurse’s abandoned stool and rests his arms on his knees. “They finally named the suspect: Jeremy Wilkins. Got into his apartment and found out he’d been stalking Ellen for months. A pair of boots in his laundry room match prints found in the back of her closet.”

“He was waiting for her,” Jensen says, filling in the gap of the bad lights in her bedroom. 

“They found a copy of her keys in a case in the apartment.” Jared holds up his hand when Jensen is about to talk again. “Which is how he got in and out without any sign. Also how he had audio running throughout her apartment to listen to her every day.”

Jensen inhales sharply, poorly amazed by how long this guy’s plan had run. “He called her sugar, because he heard her dad say it.”

Jared smiles softly with a nod. “Yeah, Misha said you’d want to know that.”

He begins to smile in return. “What about the jogger?”

“The guy hasn’t copped to it yet, but Misha can sense that it was to cover up their run-in the night of Ellen’s murder.”

“But they’ve got enough for the first one?” Jensen asks, hopeful yet worried that he’ll be told otherwise.

Jared pats Jensen’s knee and there’s an immediate rush of warmth up Jensen’s thigh. It settles heavily in his gut then turns ice cold when Jared pulls his hand away with a frown, like he now realizes what one touch really means now. “Yeah, Worthy thinks they do.”

“That’s great, really.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jared suddenly stands and fetches his keys from his pocket. “Well, you’re probably tired of sitting in the ER. We should get you home. I mean, you should get there, to rest, and stuff.”

Jensen agrees and stays quiet with Jared as he’s discharged, out to the parking lot, and all the way to his place. The ride itself feels long with the low hum of the radio filling the space between them, but once they pull up to his house, Jensen wishes they had more time so he could have drummed up the courage to say something. 

Once parked, Jared taps his fingers on the steering wheel, nervous energy riling them both up. “I probably should have taken you to the department to get your car.”

“The doctor actually said I shouldn’t be driving. With the concussion and all.”

Nodding, Jared weakly smiles. “Yeah, good point.”

“Well,” Jensen says awkwardly. “Congratulations on working your first homicide case.”

Jared snorts and nods, still looking out the windshield. “I missed all the good stuff. Like getting the bad guy in cuffs.”

Jensen can read that Jared isn’t blaming Jensen at all, just the situation going the way it did. “Yeah, but you were the one with the lead on the jogger. Without that, who knows where we’d be.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“You did a really great job out there. You should be proud of that.”

Jared glances over and they maintain eye contact long enough that Jensen can vividly feel the pride spinning inside Jared’s mind and how grateful he is that Jensen’s said this much. But Jared also seems to wonder why Jensen is still in the car, as if he wants Jensen to just go and end the day where it is.

It sets Jensen into a whole new headspace and his fingers twitch against the door handle. First, though, he forces himself to say, “What you said the other night, about the connection when we first met, I believe you. I didn’t want to, but … you know …”

“Things change?” Jared offers. There’s a little bit of attitude behind his tone, but not enough to make this conversation even more tense than it is. 

Jensen looks out the passenger side window and searches for anything but the reflection in his periphery of Jared still watching him. “Something like that.”

With a small dash of hope that Jensen instantly feels yet wants to push away, Jared tips his head in thought. “Have things changed here?”

Jensen takes a few moments to look at Jared—really looks and considers how Jared’s hope begins to dwindle into nerves and slight disappointment. He blinks and faces the windshield, unable to put words together. He only manages, “I just,” and minutely shakes his head, knowing he doesn’t want to shut Jared out again. But it’s all he knows how to do.

“Right,” Jared says then clears his throat.

Jensen opens his mouth to speak, but Jared beats him to it.

“It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? All you do is pick up these links with people, but you’re shit at making real connections.”

He slowly turns back to Jared. He’s weighed down by not only Jared’s disappointment, but his own as well; this isn’t where he wanted to be at this age—lost and impotent with living, human emotions.

Just as Jensen’s prepared to answer, his cell phone rings. He pulls it out of his jacket to Misha on the other line. As the tone continues to ring harshly, Jensen motions with it and frowns at Jared. “I should take this.”

“Yeah, sure, have a good night,” Jared replies with a small, fake smile. 

As Jensen walks further from the curb, the link between them fades and Jensen is no longer filled with dread and disappointment. He’s exhausted beyond anything as all of today crashes upon him, but he’s free to take Misha’s call.

He mindlessly _mmhmm_ s to all of Misha’s concerns and mother-henning, and gets to the couch with his cat jumping into his lap to plant herself against his chest with a loud purr. 

Her contentment with him being home soothes his aching muscles and seconds later, he’s out.


	3. Part Three

In the morning, Worthy calls Jensen to the suspect’s apartment, just to cover the bases. It’s a more of an exception than a rule, in cases like this, but Jensen fulfills the duty and shows up to the apartment complex he feels like he knows front to back with all the time he’s spent there in the past week or so.

It’s a two-bedroom apartment that features a disrupted bedroom where hardly a thing is in place. The covers hang at one corner and the pillows are tossed against the wall. Most of the dresser is in a state of disarray with drawers open and some clothing tossed about. Worse yet, is the mess of a closet that appears as though it’s bursting at the seams, with one sliding door off the bottom track.

Jensen glances around then gives Worthy a straight look. “Did your guys get a bit excited in here?”

Worthy tips his head with a small frown. “It was like this when we walked in.” 

“Yesterday…” Jensen drifts off. 

“Yeah, yesterday,” Worthy sighs. “We walked into this, but the damned scene doesn’t match the profile. Misha tried to do his work.” After a long, weary sigh, he shakes his head. “He’s no you.”

 _No one is_ , Jensen thinks darkly, nowhere near pleased that this is the situation their case is in. He recalls the clean surfaces of the rooms he’d passed on his way into the large bedroom: the living room sharply clean; kitchen spotless, nearly sparkling with not a dish in sight; and bathroom perfectly in order. He turns towards the door to judge the state of the hallway carpeting, and he has to say that it’s nicely kept compared to this bedroom. 

“I don’t really know—” Jensen stops there, unsure of what he really doesn’t know, or what he wants to say. He doesn’t understand why this room is such a hazard compared to the rest of the apartment, why a suspect who was so meticulous in stalking and attacking their victim with precise knife techniques would keep such a messy room, why he’s here to read anything, why he can’t even pick a single feeling up in this room if … “If this is really our guy,” he says slowly.

Worthy sighs, more tired than annoyed. “That’s what your partner said.”

Jensen searches the room without moving an item, logging how everything is so disorganized that it would take days to sort through any evidence or make sense of what each piece could mean to their suspect. Worthy leaves Jensen to it so he can confer with his guys in the living room. In even near-silence, nothing makes sense in this room. 

From what Jensen had experienced of the murders, and what Worthy’s people had developed in a suspect profile, Jensen would assume their guy had such an exacting personality that he would refold gum wrappers instead of wadding them up and chucking them in the vicinity of the garbage can in the corner. But it’s the latter that’s obvious in this room, along with a handful of pop cans on the nightstand, all with different levels of liquid, unmatched socks rolled together in the open top drawer, and a mad array of papers across the desk.

This can’t be their murder, and yet the hairs on the back of Jensen’s neck stand at attention and his fingers tingle when he inspects the desktop.

Carefully, not wanting to disrupt the scene, Jensen uses a pen from his suit pocket to nudge items across the desk to see half-written notes with addresses and times; Jensen recognizes some as local restaurants and bars. The same name is on everything, so there’s no mistaking Jeremy Wilkins lives here, along with a few slit envelopes addressed to Wilkins that share the return address for a local singles group. He opens the nightstand’s top drawer, yet isn’t satisfied with anything he finds—old receipts, a dead watch, a half-used bottle of lube. 

“Gross,” Jensen mumbles.

“Did you find his porno stash?”

Jensen spins to see Jared in the hallway with his hands tucked into slacks. That would explain Jensen’s nerves going haywire. Maybe. “That might be more terrifying.” He considers cracking a joke about what he’s found, but instead stares at Jared. “What’re you doing here?”

It comes out sharper than he’d planned, obvious by the way Jared mentally flinches and Jensen feels that flare of discomfort from across the room. 

“Worthy called me,” Jared replies, eyes slanting away to check out the room. “Said I might be of some use here. But maybe not.” Following a quick huff, Jared turns towards the hall. “I’ll go see where they need me.”

Jensen curses at himself for once again pushing—shoving—Jared away, but he’s certain it’s the best course of action at this time, the only way to preserve himself. He focuses back on the bedroom and looks through as much of the closet as possible without moving too much. He checks the open dresser drawers, beneath the bed, and finally the garbage can. 

“Jackpot.”

It’s a mere whisper and a drawn-out breath when he sees a few singles pages in the waste basket that had been read, refolded, and discarded. Using his pen, Jensen shuffles through the pages that all call back to the same singles group from the envelope on the desk. At the top of one sheet is _Ellen Thompson, 28_ followed by a brief description of her professional life and a headshot. 

Jensen uses a fresh napkin off the nightstand to pluck the paper from the garbage can and heads to the living room, which is now empty. Odd, certainly, but not all too surprising when he then hears a group of loud neighbors joined in the lobby begging for information. 

He leaves the paper in the apartment then he joins Worthy and the other detectives in the hallway. As he steps closer, a burst of heat runs down the front of his body, which he blames on Jared standing nearby. Within seconds, that heat prickles up his spine and stiffens his neck with quick sparks of tension. 

Closing his eyes, he turns away from the melee and steadies his breathing, listens to his quickening heartbeat. He tries to pull himself together before this connection surges beyond just mere trouble and into another run of incapacitation. 

The heat blazes into flames licking up his legs and down his arms so his fingers twitch and his eyes slip closed. When he catches his breath and looks around, he finds Jared watching him closely and worry flickers above all other concerns. Which troubles him, making it difficult handle the battling emotions. Then he feels spikes of shame prick his right arm, so he looks that way. The shame slowly transitions to just a shade of concern until it grows and finally consumes Jensen with complete satisfaction and excitable impatience. 

Jensen goes dizzy, even stumbling on his feet with the pressure changes within. The longer he stays put, staring down an empty hallway, more exhilaration glides out from beneath his skin and leaves him full of confusion—for and about himself, because he can then sense Jared stepping closer. 

He shakes Jared off; he needs the space to breathe, to see, and know what he’s truly experiencing without Jared muddling everything up. He moves down the hallway, away from the crowd. More importantly, he puts space between them and keeps moving. Without a second of thought, he takes the side exit and heads left when those notes of eagerness he’d felt in the hallway prick his skin again. 

A clear vision of Jared appears in his mind, clouds his sight. It’s chaos in his brain to sort through the anger he can tell is a completely different from either he or Jared. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he sees Jared following him and then he’s overtaken by aggression of a third man appearing from the side of the building. 

Turning too quickly towards the threat, Jensen stumbles with his hands dragging along the brick building, cutting his palms open in jagged lines. As he fights to gain a better stance, he hears the quick snap of the man knocking Jared with an elbow to the head, witnesses Jared’s head cock back at a sickening rate and angle. Contrary to how quickly the blow was made, it seems slow as mud to watch Jared’s body fall and hit the ground.

Blood pools and slides down between Jensen’s knuckles and across the pads of his fingers, but that doesn’t stop him from drawing his field weapon from the holster at the back of his belt. He steadily aims at a carbon copy of the man who’s sitting behind bars at the precinct. 

It all slots into place. Twins who live together—this must be the clean freak who tidies the entire apartment while the other tears his room apart and is mistaken for trouble. 

Then the images flood Jensen’s mind, like snapshots clicking through a viewer, and he sees how this brother—Jesse—had combed through the dating profiles found among the mess of his brother’s desk and garbage can. How he stalked the few he felt connections with, just long looks at bright eyes in those headshots. The obsession runs through Jensen’s body, turning his blood feverish with want and the need to control these emotions. 

Jensen blinks through the ambush until he can focus his eyes and realizes Jared is on the ground, Jared’s grogginess and pain flashing through Jensen as well. Jared shifts to his side and looks up, and suddenly Jensen’s chest clenches with Jared’s fear, his panic and need to reach for his gun but unable to as the suspect closes in on him.

Jared doesn’t move, seems to struggle with any effort to rise, and when Jesse lifts his hand, Jared falls back to the ground with a painful whimper. 

“Stop!” Jensen shouts, tucking his blood-wet fingers around the trigger, for the if and when of using it. His voice is tight when he tries to speak again. “Stop right there. Put your hands up.”

Jesse’s head is still tilted down towards Jared, but he slowly gazes up from beneath heavy, haunted eyelids and Jensen instantly reads the man’s wicked wishes to kill them both curl around his brain, stiffening his muscles. Jensen quickly realizes that they’re facing a telepath, and now the way he must have controlled his victims explains how the crime scenes were relatively clean considering the amount of anger trailing around. 

Jensen blinks hard and tries to see through the tension wrapping around his muscles and blurring his vision. He can still sense Jared’s dread at being unable to move, for following Jensen here out of pure curiosity, and Jensen would curse Jared out for it as well. He’s now too focused, though, on pushing back on the killer’s telepathy—his binding—as white-hot power weakens Jensen’s joints. 

His arm begins to drop, so he lifts it firmly only to feel as though his shoulder is melting beneath his shirt and he’s lost all strength to level his weapon. He’s shocked with ice to realize that he’s no longer picking up on Jared, that Jared’s motionless on the ground and losing his last few breaths. 

Jensen drags his arm up with his other hand as a guide, locks his shoulder and his elbow, then sucks in a hard breath and tugs his finger tight against the trigger. The shock of the weapon’s kickback makes his arm feel more useless than before.

As the shot echoes in the air, Jesse falls like an empty sack to the ground and Jensen can breathe again. 

He drops his gun and falls to Jared’s side, feels for a heartbeat that barely flickers beneath the surface, hears shallow breathing that’s enough to keep Jared alive. His only use at this moment is to yell for Misha and hope that his partner can save another life.

“I’m not a doctor,” Misha says from behind Jensen.

It should not make him flinch; he began picking up Misha’s calmness within a month of working together, and it should have been more obvious when Jensen felt the care and peace surround him just moments ago. He blamed it more on the worry coursing his veins as he stared at Jared in a hospital bed, had figured the few times he touched Jared’s pale cheek, dry hand, or sweaty hair had been the reason he was feeling settled here. 

“I can’t work miracles.”

Jensen barely looks over his shoulder, but still rolls his eyes. “It’s kind of in your job description.”

“You can’t blame me that he’s not waking up ye—”

“He will,” Jensen mumbles over Misha.

“And you can’t blame yourself.”

Jensen doesn’t think he would. At least, he’d like to think he’d look for a better outlet to that kind of torment and turn his bitterness on Jesse Wilkins’ case and any dangerous telepath he might encounter for years to come.

“It’d be the same thing,” Misha says quietly. “Transference of your pain against others.”

“He’ll wake up soon,” Jensen replies. _He must_ , he thinks. 

For decades, especially following the incident with Mackenzie … Jensen had always wished he was more powerful, that he could control his powers and manipulate others. Except when his own powers ran afoul and he knew that if he couldn’t regulate the influx, there was no way he’d manage the outflow either.

Still, once he loses Misha’s touch at the back of his mind, when he’s left alone with Jared, he reaches for Jared’s face. He combs hair away and runs his thumb over Jared’s forehead, just above the gash that Wilkins had left with his elbow, now butterfly-bandaged shut. 

Jensen wishes as hard as he did on that rainy day in a hot summer back in his childhood that he could extend those catching emotions through his hands to help. But he knows it’s a lost cause no matter how many times he touches Jared’s temple, jaw, or shoulder. 

“It was raining like hell,” he murmurs, barely realizing he’s speaking aloud, yet appreciating the silence to release his secret. “She just got her permit and begged me to take her out. There’s only so much crabby-sister whining a guy can take, ya know?” Jensen awkwardly chuckles and shuffles to lean against the side of the bed. He looks down to his fingers dragging over the tough knuckles of Jared’s limp hand. “I kept telling her how to be careful in the storm and she was getting so annoyed with me, just bitching and moaning in return. I couldn’t stop feeling that from her— _especially her_. Our grandma said we were connected, that we were sired, but we hardly believed it. I didn’t want to really believe what I was. I just wanted to be normal. We all did.

“But still, I had this … thing … inside me. This ball of emotion that tied me up every time someone was sad or angry or upset. And there she was, yelling at me, telling me anything and everything she could. My anger just doubled, hell it probably tripled with her, and next I knew, we were screaming at one another until suddenly, she drove right into a tree.”

The room remains still and Jensen lets the quiet drag on for an unquestionable time. Long enough that he accepts the judgment that Jared would surely have for him if he were awake. 

Jensen closes his eyes against the wide, sad eyes he figures Jared would showcase, and he winces against the long-ago memory. 

“I couldn’t save her … but I could kill her. She was an Empath, too, with absorption. When she wanted it, she could just draw on me. But that was the worst time to do it.”

He releases a long breath, focusing on the dizziness overtaking him because it distracts him from the words falling from his lips. Allows him to slide his fingers beneath Jared’s hand, seeking the warmth of his palm and the light pulse thumping beneath the skin. 

“She grabbed my arm like a vice lock. She was trying to pull my energy to save herself. Instead … she just felt my pain over the accident. Over her. And it amplified between us until she couldn’t contain it anymore. Until she couldn’t handle it.”

Jensen swallows, tongue smacking within his dry mouth. He’s sure he’s done with the memory, images and heat and terror flying through him, figure eights surrounding him with far too much for him to pick out. He bites down on his lower lip when there’s a twitch of Jared’s hand against his. Bites hard enough so there’s a jab of pain that’s real and not some faint reflection he sees on a regular basis.

“Then?” 

He glances down to Jared’s eyes barely open and waiting. 

“Then what?” Jared asks again on a rough whisper. 

Weak fingers scratch against the bandage keeping Jensen’s palms neat, and Jensen sharply remembers the ragged bricks breaking his skin and the wet grip of his gun as he had aimed at Jesse Wilkins. 

It’s a crushing memory, nerves twisting in his neck and down his spine, and Jensen flinches to pull his hand out from Jared’s. “She died,” he admits quietly, eyes barely meeting Jared’s. He blinks away impending tears and braves a smile, shrugging off the real pain with ignorance. “’Cause I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t stop pulling in her pain and she was trying to sift through that to get to something more solid that could build her back up.”

“No,” Jared insists, though his voice is still gravelly and soft. “It’s not—”

“Either way,” Jensen says airily. He steps a full foot from the bed and clenches his jaw. “That’s why. Figured you deserved to know the truth.”

Jared’s eyes shine in sympathy, and that emotion wafts over Jensen, makes him want to fall to his knees and give in to the anguish. But he won’t, not even when Jared asks, “Why?”

Jensen clears his throat and fakes the assured, distant façade he’s put up for Jared since they met in _Baron’s_. “You almost died following me around, trying to find out.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Mr. Padalecki?” a man in pale blue scrubs asks upon entry. 

“That’s my cue,” Jensen mumbles, stepping back, but Jared calls out to him.

“No, Jensen, wait.” Jared clears his throat, works past the roughness. “What about the guy who came at me?”

Jensen’s memory picks through the scene once more, and he distinctly relives the pressure of his finger on the trigger. “He was our guy, the murder. Not Jeremy, but Jesse.” Jared’s eyes widen and Jensen nods. “Twin brother who shared the apartment.” _Liked sharing all things apparently,_ Jensen thinks darkly.

“Did you get him?”

Jesse’s up on the fourth floor with a nasty chest wound and a long list of crimes awaiting him in court, including Use of Telepathy for Violence and Assaulting an Officer; both will make him a danger to himself and others, and keep him from being able to barter much with the District Attorney on the main counts of First Degree Murder. Jensen doesn’t bother expressing much more with the doctor still standing at the ready to see his patient, to heal Jared, which is more important at this point. 

Giving way to the doctor, Jensen slips back and nods to them both. He then offers Jared one final word. “Just focus on you. Leave yourself in good hands.”

He figures it’s vague enough to serve as encouragement to heal and yet layered with the real meaning. To not bother with Jensen and his burden.

The next morning, Jensen wakes on the couch with a crick in his neck, Crazyface standing on his chest and staring at him. He’s confused about his location until yesterday’s events fit back together in his memory, especially the moments with Jared, which still concern him no matter how strongly he pushes them away. He’s feeling more affected by having such a strong link with a Null than the fact that it’s Jared.

He’s grateful the case is over and they remain in separate divisions. Still, Jensen checks his phone then texts Misha to say he’s staying in today unless something big pops up. He heads to the bedroom, strips down to his undershirt and boxers, and drops face-first to the mattress. 

He focuses on the coolness of the soft, cotton sheets against his skin and the gentle breeze coming in through the cracked window above his bed. The chirping of birds outside his window fade away until his brain is set in total silence and he can methodically layer brick after brick to create a new layer of protection for his brain. He’d always imagined his past defenses as clear shields that allow him to lessen the threats, but now he needs reinforced masonry to lock everyone out. 

Being a shit doesn’t get him far in any relationship of any kind, but he’s seeking self-preservation at this point and there are plenty of renovations to be made upstairs.

Weeks later, word around the precinct says Jared’s recovered with lingering headaches. He’s back on the job following a week’s paid time off, and Jensen and Misha are already drifting around other cases.

Resolutely avoiding serious conversations with his partner keeps Jensen at a safe distance while it creates an unknown tension between them. It takes time to wither away, to bring them back to the ease of their partnership, but with time, Jensen feels good. 

Perhaps, not quite good, but more _normal_ —as normal as he can get. His mind is so perfectly compartmentalized that he remains stoic in the face of screaming toddlers in the grocery store, or a man and woman fighting over a massive fender bender at a major downtown intersection, or even when he passes by _Baron’s_ on a final leg of errands one quiet weekend.

There’s the fuzzy memory of Jared on that first night, the heat in his eyes, how it had billowed over Jensen as they stood inches from another in silent appreciation. But that image quickly fizzles in favor of the countless hours they’d spent side by side, working the Thompson case. 

Jensen neatly closes those memories and moves forward with determination to maintain his walls.

A full month since the case was closed, the afternoon is bright with the sun high in the sky and not a cloud in sight. Families are joined at the park down the street from his place, kids riding bikes up and down the sidewalk, and a dog a few doors down won’t stop howling at the squirrel running along the front porch.

Still, the world feels quiet, lonely even. Jensen sits in an armchair in his living room, stares out the large picture window, and watches life go on outdoors. His hand dangles over the side of the chair, fingers tapping at the lip of a beer bottle, but he doesn’t drink. His cat—Crazyface, his mind laughs at him—rubs against the back of his hand with her furry tail flicking each of his knuckles. She leans up with her paws on the arm of the chair and meows curiously.

He pets her face and watches her green eyes slide shut in pleasure. Her purring echoes against his palm when rubbing against her jaw and she leans even further into the touch. She’s warm with soft hair that caresses his fingers with each stroke, but he feels nothing more than that. There is no radiating comfort or adoration to ease him.

Suddenly, Jensen wonders just how tall his walls are now, how thick the brick and stone, to keep his own pet out of his mind. There’s a minor bit of worry at the thought, but then he’s left hollow and aimless.

She jumps up to the chair and settles on the arm so he can continue petting her, and he does. There’s still no shared feeling or recognition of her need of continued attention. 

“You’ve been here almost a year, you know that?” he asks her. He pauses for a response and laughs at himself when he realizes he’s done it. The noise echoes in the living room, yet it seems to brighten the area with a short burst of color. “It’s probably about time I give you a real name, wouldn’t you say?”

She rubs her head more steadily against his hand and purrs louder, which he takes as her agreement.

“Angel?” he offers. When she tips her head up so he can scrub at her neck, he figures she’s not happy with that. “Brownie?” She moves away from him his fingers and he opens his hand in apology. “Okay, no Brownie, even if you look like one,” he mumbles. 

Jensen runs through a long list of possibilities—both human and sugary nicknames—and none feel right. He drifts off to the day they found her huddled inside a shoe box beneath a kitchen table littered with weeks-old mail. She’d meowed and scurried away from just about anyone else on the scene until Jensen leaned down to check for other items down on the ground. She finally stood up, walked up to him, and rubbed her head against his shin. 

He can still remember Misha’s tiny smile as he murmured, “Looks like you finally found yourself a friend.”

“Thought Misha was your only friend,” the suit on the case had laughed. 

“Only because they pay me.”

Jensen had rolled his eyes and focused on the then-kitten instead of letting anyone in the room know he was bothered by the jokes. All these months later and the idea still stings somewhere in the far reaches of his mind.

He slouches down in the chair and she takes the opportunity to crawl onto his chest, turn in a circle, then plop down on his stomach with her head resting on her paws. 

Jensen leans his head against the back of the chair and closes his eyes with the gentle weight and warmth of the cat lulling him into a late-afternoon nap.

Just as the elevator doors are closing on the first floor, Jensen hears someone call out to hold it. He quickly punches the door open button and holds it until there are now two in the car.

“Thanks so much,” comes out in a rush when a plain clothes officer leans on the back wall.

Jensen’s about to wave it off, but he realizes it’s Jared. He must be working on the streets with his jeans, button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off his tanned and taut arms, and his hair softly tucked behind his ears in a more easy-going style than the days he was suited up to play official detective.

Jared seems a bit spooked to be standing in such close quarters, so Jensen forces a smile on his face. The edges of his mind are seeking out the familiar sense of Jared’s earnest personality, but nothing is there aside from Jared’s careful glance. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Jared asks, sounding more polite than actually caring to know.

“Nothing really.” Jensen nods and watches the numbers change as they pass the second floor.  
“How’re you?”

“Good. Everything’s good.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

The elevator coasts to a stop at the third floor and Jared steps towards the doors just as they open. 

“I lied,” Jensen says suddenly then frowns because he hadn’t planned to say anything else. Except he has this need to _feel_ something, and for the week they’d spent together, Jared made Jensen experience a breadth of emotions he’d long forgotten. 

Jared leans against the open door to keep the elevator put. “Lied about what?”

“About the nothing. That I haven’t been up to anything,” he mumbles. When Jared continues to stare, Jensen swears the temperature in the elevator has gone up a good ten or twenty degrees. The air is stuffy and he’s now pulling at the edge of his collar for relief. “I, uh, I named my cat.”

“Okay.” After a tense silence, Jared asks, “And what made you do that?”

Jensen shrugs. “Someone told me I suck at making connections. I thought that was a decent place to start.”

“Yeah,” he replies slowly. “I guess you gotta start somewhere.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“So, she’s not just Crazyface now?”

“No, she’s not. I mean, she’s still crazy, yeah,” he chuckles. “But I’m not calling her that anymore. I named her Miranda.”

Jared stares for a few long moments then slowly lifts one eyebrow. “You named your cat Miranda? Like the rights?”

“It seemed kind of fitting,” he defends, brusquely. 

“It is,” Jared agrees. Then he begins to smile, a truthful, fulfilling curl of his lips that strikes Jensen in the pit of his stomach. That reaction is just as surprising as Jared openly regarding him here.

Somehow, Jensen believes this isn’t any sort of siring, no magic involved here. Just good old fashioned interest. There’s a slice of excitement thrumming through his bones that reminds him of that first time they met, of the first time they really laid eyes on one another.

They share a kind look until the elevator alarm rings with the doors still held open. Jared steps away from the doors, letting them slide a few inches before putting his hand between the doors again. 

Jared motions towards Jensen and gently offers, “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.” 

“You, too.” Jensen lets a smile break through on his face, tipping up on one side with his eyes warm on Jared with honest attention. 

Tipping his head in slight confusion, maybe in surprised interest, Jared watches Jensen as far as he can until the elevator doors completely close and the car crawls up two more floors. 

By the time Jensen gets to SIU, his desk phone is ringing with Jared on the other end.

“You know,” Jared says immediately, “I never thanked you for letting me follow you on the Thompson case. And for saving my life. And visiting me in the hospital.”

Jensen almost smiles as he sits down; his colleagues are around and he doesn’t need to give them anything to bug him about. He slips his controlled, blasé persona into place. “Well, you survived, so that’s more than enough for my conscience.”

“Seems like the occasion deserve more than that.”

“Are you going to give me a plaque or something?”

“Was thinking a purple heart. Valor in the line of duty and all that.”

“Valor for putting up with you?” Jensen says flatly, but he’s pretty sure Jared gets the joke with his soft chuckle. 

“It could’ve been worse. You’ve never met my partner.”

“Maybe he deserves a medal for putting up with you full time.”

“This is not how you make real connections, Jensen,” Jared mocks.

Jensen nods and leans back in his chair. “Noted and filed for another day.”

As Jared goes on with a random observation about the lack of sun lately, Jensen thinks it’s a new start.

It takes a week.

When Jensen leaves work on a relatively quiet Thursday, Jared is sitting in the lobby of the police station. Jensen knows that thick brick circling his brain is keeping out any irrational emotions, so the honest-to-goodness smile to grace his face is shocking. And possibly embarrassing, except that Jared is smiling back. 

“I was thinking, now that we’re both back in one piece, I could pay you back,” Jared says when he stands. 

Jensen leans against the back of a row of chairs and shrugs. “You don’t have to, really.”

“So you’re not interested in another burger as big as your head?”

Jensen looks away from Jared’s smirk. “I’m not interested in two days of heartburn.”

Still, Jared convinces Jensen to a different bar and grill where they share appetizers and pitchers of beer. Halfway through the first pitcher, the conversation is still a bit awkward with Jensen trying to keep himself open, all while feeling the need to fence himself in no matter how intent he is to change. 

Two decades of segmenting himself from human emotions, from developing relationships or connections aside from those forced by his job, haven’t led to anything more than a quiet apartment and a cat he named only a week ago. 

Jared must notice the effort Jensen’s put into making even non-verbal responses, because he eyes Jensen for a while after he refills their glasses. He chews on the last bit of a breaded mushroom and makes a thoughtful noise. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why did you agree to come here?”

Jensen takes the time to drink as he considers how to respond. The best answer seems to be the most straight forward one. “Because you asked.”

It’s a surprise that Jared doesn’t seem satisfied by that. He shifts in his seat and bites his lower lip as he watches his thumb coast over the rim of his pint glass. 

Suddenly, Jensen dearly misses the cracks that Jared would slip through; if only he knew what Jared was thinking—feeling—at this very moment, then Jensen could find the right words to ease the moment. Somewhere deep inside, Jensen is scared by the way his body is leaning closer, reaching for Jared, yet it’s completely thrilling to feel like everyone else in the world— those who don’t know any better and have to feel with their hands first.

Jensen clears his throat then takes a long, deep breath to steady himself. He opens his mouth and just lets it run off without him for a while, hoping some combination of the oncoming words work out. “I’ve lived a long time shutting people off, keeping them out. After … after my sister … it’s been what felt right the whole time. Nothing else made sense but to protect myself when there’s always too much there to rush up on me that I can’t control.

“But finally, I got to the end of my rope and I’m kind of tired of working so hard to stop it all. I’m not letting everything in. It’s almost the opposite. I’m not really letting anything in at all. After that night, with Wilkins, I built … I don’t know, like, Fort Knox in my brain. But at least I’m not ignoring it anymore.”

Jared blinks at Jensen and flicks a few fingers out. “I don’t … I don’t really understand.”

Jensen bitterly laughs at himself. He’s a foolish bastard for allowing himself to let all of that out, even if Jared is completely lost. Jensen has always been an asshole for self-preservation; it only seems fitting that when he attempts the exact opposite, he crashes and burns so spectacularly.

“I want to, though,” Jared says with his brows furrow. “It seems like I really should. And like you want me to.”

Jensen nods with a small frown, because he’s uncertain how to tread forward. “It feels like it’s important that you do.”

Jared slides forward in his seat to lean more heavily on the table. He taps his fingers at the wood top of the bar table and Jensen realizes their hands are a bare inch apart. “So, with all the armor and barricades going on, can you actually still feel anything? Or is it all a relative concept?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were hurt, in the ER,” Jared says with a quick glance up to Jensen’s eyes. “You said that we were sired together, but that would be impossible if you were all jammed up.”

“Pretty much,” he admits quietly.

“Which you did on purpose. And yet, we’re here, now. So, I guess my question still remains.” Jared locks right onto Jensen’s eyes. “Why did you agree to come here tonight?”

The longer they maintain eye contact, the more something stirs inside Jensen. It’s not a cognitive thing, nothing like all the times he’d felt Jared’s senses overtaking him. It’s more subtle this time, a soft wave in his stomach, a hiccup in his heart, a tick in his jaw. None of them are a thing he’s experienced before, which makes him believe this is heading exactly where he was hoping: towards a natural connection. 

“Because I want to be.”

“You sure about that?” Jared begins to smirk then pats Jensen’s hand with his pinky. “You say it aloud and you can’t take it back.”

“I’m sure I can just go into hiding,” Jensen replies dryly, bringing his beer up to his mouth to sip.

“I know where you work. And live. Plus, I’m a detective.”

Tipping his head, Jensen regards Jared. “Yeah, I remember. A pretty good one, too.”

It’s a slower walk to the bedroom than the night they met, but the intentions are all the same. This time, however, they undress a bit carefully with the lights still on, and hands touch bare skin in more of a caress than a needy clutch. And unlike before, Jensen lets Jared touch his mouth, allows deep, wet, long kisses as Jared hovers over him on the bed.

Jensen keeps his eyes closed tight as his mind spins with every sweep of Jared’s tongue against his own. He rolls his body up to Jared’s to bring heated skin together, and Jared moans into Jensen’s mouth. The vibrations run over Jensen’s tongue and make him shiver, which draws a delighted hum from Jared as he deepens the kiss. 

The connection is as profound as the night they met, and Jensen’s grateful to experience it purely. To know what it really is and what it means. That he really is connected to Jared on a human level and not some empathic perception that twists truths within Jensen’s own mind.

He can feel himself plummeting with the overload of emotions, at the flood of tingles and quick breaths and warm hands all over his skin. Distantly, in the furthest reaches of his mind that remain unprotected, he thinks he could free fall here, and he almost trusts that he’ll be caught.

Jared cups Jensen’s face as he pulls back. Murmurs, “Jensen, look at me.”

Slowly, Jensen dares to open his eyes and is mesmerized to see clearly into Jared without any lingering pull to detail everything on Jared’s mind. Still, it’s easy to sense that thread of their connection tying them together, and Jensen is all at once afraid and grateful that this is where they stand together. 

“Are you okay?” Jared asks quietly. Jensen silently nods and Jared appears confused. “You look spooked.”

“It’s just new,” he admits. Jared begins to slip back, but Jensen slides his arms around Jared’s neck to pull him back in. “After the shit we’ve started, no way are you bailing on me now.”

Jared lightly chuckles, but still asks, “You sure?”

Jensen skims his hands down Jared’s back and tugs him down so their hips are flush, so his dick rubs alongside Jared’s. “What do you think?”

With a smirk, Jared reaches between them and strokes their cocks together, forcing Jensen to arch his back when shivers run up his chest and make his breath catch. “I think I remember a guy who was incredibly bossy about being fucked.”

“That guy’s still here somewhere.”

“I hope so,” Jared grows. He drags his teeth up the column of Jensen’s throat and lightly bites at the corner of Jensen’s jaw. “Though I gotta say that I kind of like the new guy hanging around, too.”

Jensen runs his hands up Jared’s sides, squeezes along his ribs on the way back down. He hitches his hips up as Jared’s hand strokes them together more steadily. With a deep hum, Jensen kicks his head back into the mattress. “That feels good.”

Jared drags his hand over Jensen’s balls, and teases one gentle finger at Jensen’s hole. He smiles at Jensen’s quick breath, and kisses along Jensen’s jaw. 

Soon enough, Jared is pushing in, filling Jensen on his cock and pumping his hips in a steady rhythm. It seems even sooner when Jensen goes dizzy, panting harshly against Jared’s mouth, and feeling his orgasm sneak up on him. 

“Is that good, too?” Jared asks with a smirk. 

“Amazing,” Jensen breathes out, finally letting himself go.

“I’ll make you feel even better,” Jared murmurs against Jensen’s cheek. 

Just as Jensen’s orgasm builds, he hears a click. Not any real, audible click, but one that he knows is his not-so-impenetrable walls slipping just a fraction for Jared. 

He both appreciates and fears the real implications of letting Jared in like this, for completely giving himself over to new possibilities.

Before he can think too much on it, Jared kisses him hard, tongue plunging deep into Jensen’s mouth, and they’re both coming shortly thereafter. 

Jensen feels faintly rude to be thankful that Jared is fairly quick with pulling out, getting rid of the condom, and collapsing back into bed. Jared’s eyes slide shut while a small smile graces his smooth face, and Jensen counts the seconds until Jared is completely out. 

He doesn’t log how long it takes him to get to sleep, but he’s sure it’s countless minutes spent staring at the ceiling as he argues with himself whether to push that wall back into place or leave it be.

Just an hour later, Jensen slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of pajama pants. Sleep isn’t friendly, nor is his own brain.

Worry overcomes him, concern for what happens now that he’s opened up to Jared and is seeking out this possibility. On the other hand, he’s certain it’s about time he experiences other people in more acceptable situations—less on the crime scene and more on his personal time. 

He considers making coffee, but knows that’ll keep him up and restless for hours more. He thinks about tea, yet isn’t up for making noise and waking Jared with the whistling kettle. 

For a short while, he just leans against the kitchen counter and stares into the dark living room. He shuffles his feet, moves them a few times to watch the edges of his pants swish around. 

Tension eases away and he chuckles at himself for the wasteful moment, until he feels an undercurrent of something else more amused—something warm and interested. Once he mentally picks at it, he recognizes the soft heat as Jared. 

He’s smiling before he realizes it. 

By the time he makes it to the bedroom doorway, he’s certain he has to let himself off the hook. There’s no point in worry when Jared’s already too stubborn to mind Jensen’s defenses, and especially when Jared is far too amusing to watch as he starts a stare-down with Miranda, who’s now perched at the edge of the bed nearest Jared. 

The moon slants in through the window just like that first night they were in here, but everything else is so different. True, Jared’s muscles are still beautiful in the moonlight, and the room is still dark and smells of them, but it’s better for all that’s changed. 

Jensen watches over Jared’s shoulder as Miranda tips her head one way then the other, Jared following suit. He leans against the doorjamb and listens as Jared quietly warns her.

“Now, you’ve already got one offense against you … a young girl like you doesn’t need to start a rap sheet.”

Jensen bites his lower lip to keep from laughing, or even just smiling too hard. He’s afraid he’ll hurt something, actually.

“I’m willing to forget the last crime, I won’t press any charges.” Jared sounds surprising serious as he’s lying there naked, only one sheet covering him up to his hip, and pointing a finger at a cat. 

Miranda isn’t intimidated and continues to stand at attention to stare at Jared in return. 

“You got it? No charges, so long as you get back on the straight and narrow. You up for it, girl? Living an honest life?”

In response, Miranda steps forward until she’s able to curl up next to Jared’s other arm, which is pressed into the mattress so he can lean his head against his hand. She lets out a soft _mew_ and Jared quickly rubs behind her ears then down to her belly. 

Jensen knows from experience that it’s her favorite move.

“That’s good,” Jared murmurs. “Because I kinda like your daddy, and it would suck if we didn’t have some kind of deal here, ya know?” After more petting, Jared admits, “I would hate that my finally winning him over was ruined because you can’t appreciate a guest in your castle every once in a while.” 

Suddenly, Miranda sits up and looks over Jared’s shoulder to Jensen. Jared twists back and makes a face, mostly in embarrassment. 

“You are busted, man,” Jensen says with a shake of his head. 

“I’m just making sure she understands the ground rules,” Jared quickly defends.

Jensen lifts an eyebrow as he crosses his arms at his chest and his feet at the ankles. “You were giving my cat the Scared Straight speech.”

“After last time? Scratching over my neck?” Jared winces in memory. “She totally deserves it.”

Jensen smirks and nods towards Miranda. “And those belly rubs? She deserve all those, too?”

Jared chuckles softly and hangs his head in guilt. “I’m a sucker, what can I say?”

Biting the corner of his mouth, cutting off a smile, Jensen nears the bed and settles facing the headboard with a great angle to watch Jared still pet Miranda and to hear her soft purring of satisfaction. “Then I guess we’ve got another thing in common. Because I’ve suddenly turned into one myself.”

Jared shifts a little towards Jensen and his hand brushes Jensen’s knee as he goes. Heat spreads through Jensen’s joint and down his shin, but it’s finally welcomed. 

“Is that so?” Jared asks. 

Jensen slowly nods, even as he considers making a joke. He decides that honesty and openness is good these days. “I can still feel you.” 

Jared first seems hotly into that idea, yet the longer they stare at one another, his interest flips into confusion. “How? I thought you built like … iron walls or something.”

Jensen shrugs then runs his index finger alongside Jared’s. The zing of connection is instantaneous this time, a nice flicker that he’s actually seeking out to test the strength. It’s nowhere near what he remembers of Mackenzie and their youth, but it’s there all the same.

“I guess you’re just that relentless,” Jensen says. “Or impossible to ignore.” He shrugs again and lets Jared thread their fingers together, watches theier knuckles bump against each other and feels a soft pop in his chest every time they do. “Either way, I felt it slip earlier.”

“Are you gonna, you know?” Jared asks while gesturing their hands together,” Put it back up?”

Hope blooms in his chest and he quickly sifts through Jared’s feelings to recognize that it’s really all his own—that it’s _Jensen_ who is aspiring for the better here. “What’s the point?” He softly smiles and squeezes their fingers together. “It’d just erase all that’s happened here, between us.”

“Then I guess we’ve got something to celebrate,” Jared murmurs, just before leaning up to kiss Jensen.

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve made yourself a real connection.”

Jensen feels a muscle twitch in his cheek, making his smile shaky. But he knows Jared’s right.

Not just correct, but _right_. 

 

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